


vibranium collared; bear your teeth.

by decadentbynature



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Erik, Cock Rings, Cock Warming, Dom!T'Challa, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Slight Alternate Universe, Sub!Erik, slight BDSM, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadentbynature/pseuds/decadentbynature
Summary: He came to Wakanda with one specific purpose: to dethrone the king, T'Challa. Walking down the throne room to stand before him, Erik knows he's in trouble before the King even speaks. An intense aura presses down onto him, commanding him to kneel. When T'Challa finally does speak, ordering him to be silent, there isn't much he can do to defy him.From that first word, Erik is already set on a different path than the one he originally chose. T'Challa drags out a part of him that he's long tried to deny. When that smooth voice commands him to kneel, to submit, to obey, he finds it hard to resist. Making it even harder is how sweetly T'Challa treats him after. Thrown into a wash of confusion, caught between desperately wanting to break free from this man to desperately wanting to submit to him, Erik can feel the teeth of the panther sinking deep into his mind.Only, T'Challa is the only one with his teeth bared.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/T'Challa
Comments: 13
Kudos: 278





	vibranium collared; bear your teeth.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikkijam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkijam/gifts).



> This is for mikkijam (as gifted by dekadai)!!  
> Check out more on my tumblr, [decadentbynature](http://decadentbynature.tumblr.com)  
> You can also follow me on twitter @ [naturallydeca](http://twitter.com/naturallydeca)

Striding into the throne room, keeping his head held high, Erik let his gaze sweep over the crowd. Curious, quiet stares met his. There was no hint of hostility or aggression – just a bunch of people wondering what in the hell he was going. A good question to be asking just then. One he’d be asking too if he were in their position. The sound of his boots clumping against the smooth, polished floor echoed throughout the huge room. From all around him came the quiet murmurs of the audience drawn in the throne room. They talked behind their hands or leaned over to whisper to their neighbors. Erik paid them no mind. None of them were important enough to catch even an iota of his attention. They might as well be faceless mannequins. There was only one person important enough to hold his attention and he was sitting on the throne directly in front of him. 

T’Challa, King of Wakanda. 

The man he would dethrone. The representation of the country he would conquer. His greatest challenge; the very embodiment of the stepping stone that would launch him from his purpose being just a thought to a reality. T’Challa…the man he would beat with the might of his anger, the tyrant king he would throw from his throne and make watch as he took claim of it. The last step to take before beginning his conquest to avenge all of his fallen cousins. Thousands of miles from his home, wandering through a land that should have been his from the moment he took his first breath, Erik strode up to that throne, still smelling of the small, dingy plane he’d flown in over an immense ocean, his gaze focused on the man he had spent years making his way towards. 

Annoyingly (but not unexpected), it was obvious that the man didn’t view him in the same vein. Those dark eyes had not swung his way once since he threw open the throne room doors, despite the loud and aggressive protests of the guards. His attention was on a datapad in his lap. A scruffy cheek rested on the sleek curve of his broad, elegant fingers. Erik breathed in deeply. While he was miffed that this bastard didn’t even have the manners to look at him while he approached, there was something else. Something far more dangerous…

This was the one thing he hadn’t accounted for. Even from a distance, T’Challa’s aura pressed down hard enough him to nearly drive him to his knees. It was taking all of his mental strength to continue walking forward. He had encountered truly impressive and powerful Doms in the past, some who had made their status known before he even had a chance to speak, and others who simply allowed their presence to speak for them, but this man…he was on a whole other spectrum. No one else even came close to comparing to him. All he was doing was just sitting, and yet, by the time Erik reached the bottom of the throne, somehow managing to keep his expression neutral, he knew he might be in trouble. Finally, those dark eyes glanced down at him. He nearly stepped back, his breath catching. A shiver raced down his spine. Bow, a little voice whispered gleefully from the back of his mind, bow to him. 

He shoved that voice angrily away. There was no way in hell that he came all the way here just to falter on the first fucking step! If this asshole wanted to play this game, then so be it. He’d show him just who the fuck he was messing with. Throwing his arms open wide, loving that he had an audience for what was going to be a slaughtering, Erik forced a snarky smile on his face and asked in the most patronizing tone he could muster, “Do you know who I am?”

T’Challa made no response, only giving him a once over with that cold stare before turning back to his datapad. There was no irritation in his gaze, no indication that he was at all bothered by Erik’s presence, which only served to mess him up even more. The corner of Erik’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. His cock twitched excitedly in the confines of his underwear. Blood began to pour down to his crotch, enticing his dick to start to harden. That was okay, though. Walking through the throne room, he had been expecting for that little traitor to make a fool out of itself. No worries, he was used to that sort of thing by now. 

A long time of dealing with Doms had taught him how to hide any kind of reaction that might indicate he was something, anything other than a Dom himself. It was easy enough – not like they could see inside of his pants. Only thing he really needed to focus on was his expression, which was easy enough to control. Getting a little hard didn’t really annoy him. What did infuriate him was just how much this stupid fuck affected him with one brief glance. Heat exploded out from the base of his belly, thrumming through his veins until it reached his head, where it grabbed him with a dizzying feverishness. Suddenly, the sensation of his clothes rubbing against his skin was unbearable. His heart began to beat rapidly, slamming excitedly against the interior of his ribs as though it wanted to jump right out and into those large, strong hands. 

Erik bit down hard on the interior of his cheek, somehow managing to maintain that snarky, irritated expression. On his way to Wakanda, he had thought that something like this might happen but he wasn’t expecting it to be this pronounced. The fuck hadn’t even spoken to him yet! Erik pulled in a long, slow breath through his nose. Alright, nope, last thing he needed to be thinking about was how badly this asshole was affecting him. That wasn’t what he came for, and he was not about to let that fucker make a fool out of him. Yeah, T’Challa knew what kind of affect he had on people, the swarmy bitch. Sitting up there on his throne, acting like he was better than everyone else – Erik felt a familiar itch in the tips of his fingers. They longed to curl into a fist and bury themselves in those fine, plush lips. About time someone showed him just how weak and inferior he was. It was a chore but he was willing to take that task on. That throne, it belonged to him. It was his stepping stone, his beginning shot to fulfilling his purpose! He wasn’t going to let his inclinations get the better of him. He was a trained killing machine! He didn’t tremble at the feet of some fucker! 

Erik forced his jaw to unclench. Best thing to do right now was to appear as calm and in control as possible. Widening his snarky grin, he said in a sneering voice, “I-“

“Silence.”

It was one word – one quietly spoken word, but it might as well have been an explosion. The world shook, threatening to send him tumbling down onto his hands and knees. All the air rushed out of his lungs in a harsh wheeze. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. Goosebumps spread over the surface of his skin. His legs went all wobbly, knees coming close to knocking together. Swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in his throat, very aware of how hot his face was, hoping against hope that he wasn’t blushing, Erik struggled to keep his expression straight as T’Challa’s cold, hard gaze slowly swung down to focus on him. Fuck…bad, bad, this was really bad. A tremble wracked his legs when their eyes met. He wanted to back down, to bow his head but he couldn’t show that kind of weakness! It took all of his strength to continue staring back, not letting his glare falter for even a second. 

Sighing, T’Challa handed the datapad over to one of the nearby aides. He knit his long fingers together, settling a calm gaze on Erik, “If you’re here for the Day of Challenge, know that it is over. You will have to return next year.”

A weird lurch rattled his stomach. Back in New York, before they had set off on their flight, Erik had made sure to stress to the squirrely pilot (who was far more interested in the amount of cash he was offering than what he was saying) that they had to arrive by a certain day. What he failed to impress onto that pilot was not arriving on that day was going to leave him high and dry. The pilot had repeatedly assured him that they would get there in time (“you’ll have time left over!” he had laughed, nervously playing with the buttons on his coat as Erik dropped down into the passenger seat) but it seemed the greatest fool here wasn’t the pilot. It was him for not making sure that the damned idiot had gotten the day right. Erik resisted the urge to sigh. This…it was not the grand play he had envisioned many times over his journey towards Wakanda. If anything, things were starting to go wrong quickly. That was alright…he could recover and turn this back the way he wanted it to be. 

“Next year?” Erik laughed incredulously. “So this is how the great warriors of Wakanda fight? Restraining themselves to one day a year to settle their battles and accept worthy opponents like a bunch of-“

“Your name.” T’Challa interrupted him. 

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? I’m assuming that you have one, despite acting like a kit nipping at my heels.”

Bristling at the insult, hating the increasingly growing wet spot forming at the front of his underwear, despising the way his balls tightened, Erik offered a wide, snarling grin and bowed mockingly, “N’Jadaka but you can call me Erik Killmonger. At your service.”

A startled murmur raced through the crowd. Heads swiveled around as the peons shot shocked glances at one another. It was a surprise that didn’t spread to T’Challa, who continued to gaze at him with a bored, distant expression. 

“Is that so, kit? Well, put your name with everyone else’s and come back in a year.”

Erik laughed again, a harsher snap of a sound that echoed through the otherwise silent chamber. Rage pulsed in the center of his mind. Red burned around the corners of his vision. This…motherfucker! Stepping forward, baring his teeth like the predator he was, he sneered, “Now, you listen to me. I didn’t come all this way to be turned away by a coward-”

“No.” T’Challa interrupted him firmly, “You came all this way to be turned away by a King – one who does not have the time or the patience to listen to the petulant ramblings of a child.” 

Standing, T’Challa brushed the crinkles from his slacks. Clenching his teeth together, Erik took another step forward, opening his mouth to issue a scathing retort but before he could say anything, T’Challa raised a hand. Settling a cold, distant gaze on him, he let the silence stretch out between them then slowly pointed to the floor and said in a low, cool voice, “Kneel.”

A jolt shook his body as his knees hit the floor. Mouth hanging open slightly, Erik distantly heard the loud murmur racing through the crowd. His cock was fully erect, pressing painfully to the back of his zipper. Every inch of his body was burning with a familiar need. W-what just happened? How…how could he-? Slowly lifting his head, Erik looked into the somber, detached expression of the man who had just completely unraveled him. There was no indication in those dark eyes that T’Challa was surprised by his reaction. If anything, it looked as though that this was the reaction he expected. That realization managed to get the slightest spark of rage but…he was still too overwhelmed by the massive pleasure that came from being…ordered by this man to submit to him. The beginnings of fear began to stir in his belly. For a split moment, he was seized hold of by an intense desire to flee. This man…he was dangerous. 

Erik viciously stamped that fear away. No…he would not be defeated like this! He had worked too goddamn hard to fail here! Setting one hand on the floor, ignoring the way his limbs were trembling, Erik made to push himself back to his feet – only to freeze when T’Challa spoke again.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to stand.”

The words pierced through his mind, dominating his thoughts, unraveling his chant of resistance, of rage until all he was thinking was ‘more’. T’Challa’s voice was not loud. If it had been, the immense effect would have been completely lost. No, it was because he was talking so smoothly, so quietly without any hint of anger or irritation that he was able to effortlessly undo all of the effort it took for Erik to get his knees an inch off the floor. Silence surrounded him. None of the audience behind him made a sound, though he noted (with slight surprise) that many of them looked startled and even uncomfortable. They glanced at one another, almost as looking to see if their neighbor was having the same reaction. No one said a word yet some looked as though they wanted too. He was left entirely alone the dizzying echoes of T’Challa’s voice bouncing around inside his head. Something buzzed intensely at the base of his dick. Pleasure howled through his veins. Every inch of his body was violently burning. 

Suddenly, a soft thump echoed through the otherwise silent throne room. It was followed by another then another as T’Challa slowly walked down the elegant stairs, his cold, distant gaze settled on Erik. Swallowing hard, struggling with all his might to keep his expression even, Erik glared back – though he knew without even being able to see himself that his glare was one of a petulant child, about to be scolded. It was not the expression he wanted to be making but it was one he would take over the dazed, wanting, pathetic look he knew was lurking, waiting to pounce. Stopping in front of him, T’Challa said nothing for what felt like an eternity then let out a sharp sigh. Long, graceful, calloused fingers slowly curled around Erik’s jaw, tilting his head back. An electric shock shook his body. The wet spot at the front of his underwear grew even bigger. Bad! His mind howled. Bad, bad, bad! 

T’Challa brought his face close. Those dark eyes held him captive. It was becoming even harder to hold his expression. Somehow, he was managing…just barely. He would be okay as long as this fucker continued on with this stupid gentle act. If he went any rougher, then he really would be in trouble. Just as that thought crossed his hazy mind, karma decided to make him his bitch. The hand holding onto his jaw abruptly jumped up to grab a handful of his hair. He just barely managed to bite back what would have been a throaty cry as T’Challa wrenched his head back. Pain radiated through his scalp. Breathing hard, chanting ‘don’t cum! Don’t fucking cum!’ over and over again inside his head, Erik’s lips curled into a weak snarl. He was about to snap out something that wouldn’t be nearly scathing enough when T’Challa spoke, still in that calm, soft voice. 

“What part of ‘come back in a year’ do you not understand, kit? The Day of Challenge is over. If you want to stand against me on a stage of combat, you will have to come back in a year, just like everyone else. I can tell just by looking at you that you are strong! You will be a worthy opponent but this is how it is done in Wakanda. Do you understand, kit?”

The words came out before he could stop them. They slipped free of his trembling lips, echoing like explosions through the silent room, “Yes sir.”

A murmur raced through the crowd. There was no amusement or mocking in their tones. Rather, many of them sounded surprised or uneasy. Coming back to his senses, enraged that this fucker had been able to affect him so severely, Erik tried to jerk his head away, expecting T’Challa to release him now that his point had been made but, to his surprise, those strong fingers tightened, strengthening their hold on his hair. His expression hadn’t changed but there was the slightest hint of an amused spark in those dark eyes. Straightening up, the corners of T’Challa’s lips raised up subtly – not a warm or kind grin but not a cold or cruel one either. Rather, he just looked…pleased, as though Erik was doing exactly as he wished. 

“Why don’t you run on home, kit?” T’Challa asked quietly, those dark eyes roaming over his body, leaving him feeling wonderfully exposed. Despuit, “You are obviously a strong warrior. Don’t waste your life chasing something like this.”

T’Challa abruptly yanked hard on his hair. This time, he couldn’t hold back a gasping cry. More babble from the audience, only it was louder, more disjointed now. It was nearly impossible to hear them over the loud roaring in his ears as his treacherous body finally decided it was time for the ultimate betrayal. His cock swelled up even bigger, twitched once, twice then he was filling his underwear with a hot mess. Clenching his teeth together tight enough to make his jaw ache, Erik just barely managed to hold back any following cries. Chuckling low in his throat, T’Challa released his hair, allowing his head to fall forward limply. Panting hard, sweat rolling down his forehead, Erik looked up just in time to watch T’Challa turn his back and walk back up the throne. He sucked in a deep breath, thought about delivering some kind of retort but held back. Right now…it would only make him look like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. 

Getting to his feet, hating the disgusting squishiness in his pants, Erik nonchalantly brushed his hands down his jacket. A glance over the audience showed that the air of discomfort had intensified. Many looked reproachful, shaking their heads and murmuring behind their hands. Though, Erik noted that it didn’t seem to be directed at him. Rather, their glares were directed at T’Challa, who appeared largely unbothered by it. Looked as though the King couldn’t do whatever he wanted and expect to get away with it. Erik had heard that Subs were treated significantly better here but he supposed there were rotten eggs everywhere. Rolling his shoulders, he cracked his neck, his knuckles then asked in the most even voice he could manage (which, thankfully, did sound like he honestly did not give a single fuck about what just happened), “Do next year’s participants have to leave Wakanda and come back?”

“You can do whatever you like.” T’Challa responded indifferently, having returned his attention back to his datapad. “But…if you wish to remain, I will not stop you.”

Offering a cocky, lopsided smile, Erik swung around, shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk back the way he came, “You’ll be seeing more of me, then, King.”

There came no response from T’Challa. Erik didn’t care – he just wanted to be out of there. The moment he was out of the throne room, the intricately carved doors slammed closed behind them. Letting out a shaky breath, Erik hardly took notice of the guards subtly glancing in his direction out of the corner of their eyes. All he took note of was how there was no hostility. Rather, there was on curiosity. It was an uncomfortable, shameful stroll around the city until he found a hostel that wasn’t too crowded. No one bothered him; no one gave him a second look as he took the stairs two at a time, practically hurling himself towards his room. Shoving the door open, he slammed it hard behind him, sending a shake rumbling through the building. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, ripping it off. His pants and underwear followed right after. A spasm of agonizing shame stuck him like a barb in his side. His cock twitched excitedly at the memory of those strong fingers curled into his hair. 

Growling, his lips curled in an enraged snarl, Erik stormed into the bathroom. That fucker, that motherfucker! He had come here with one purpose: to be the man who stole Wakanda away from T’Challa and with a few simple words, that man had completely undone him. He furiously turned on the water and kept turning until the steam was so thick, he could hardly see through it. This was not going anywhere near what he had expected to happen. Did he think it was going to be easy? Fuck no! He was dealing with the King of Wakanda, of course it wasn’t going to be fucking easy but this?! Erik practically threw himself into the spray of the shower. The water was scalding hot – perfect. Standing underneath the jets, his hands braced on the wall, he stared down at the tiled floor. Did that fucker expect him to turn tail and run? Fuck no! He would show him that he was more than capable of taking him down. Just because he got turned on by this bullshit didn’t mean he was going to obediently do as he was told! 

He…he couldn’t back down now. He couldn’t let that fucker take control of him. Too many Doms had tried and they had all failed. He wouldn’t let anyone ever take possession of him. He wouldn’t let anyone ever collar him! Pulling in a deep breath, he let his eyes slid closed. Okay, so, he had experienced a major, humiliating hiccup. That was alright; he was alright. This was just another knock. He had endured far worse than this. Right now wasn’t the time to be freaking out. It was the time to pick himself up, dust himself off and show these fuckers just who they’re dealing with. Starting, first and foremost, with that fucker who had the audacity to tell him that he didn’t stand a chance. 

-

It really was kind of insulting how easily he could get access to the King of Wakanda. Rather than try to stop him, the Dora Milaje largely allowed him to wander as he saw fit. Their eyes always followed him with that same curious look but none really spoke to him. Did this motherfucker see him as so little of a threat that he didn’t even deem it necessary to tell his guards to be more cautious of him? The thought was enough to make his blood boil. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, his legs crossed, the steel tip of his boot resting on the smooth, polished floor, Erik gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he silently watched T’Challa train. He was naked from the waist up. Loose trousers hung from his broad hips, revealing a tantalizing v that Erik did not at all want to drag his tongue down. Sweat rolled in beads down his beautiful brown skin. Sunlight filtered in from the numerous windows, creating a scene that he both hated and couldn’t drag his eyes away from. An intense expression of concentration dominated T’Challa’s handsome face. It was mesmerizing – the way T’Challa moved, the grace, the power, the conviction and control behind each movement, it made him feel as though he was watching someone dance, rather than practice. 

There was no one else around, not even a guard. Erik dragged his tongue over his teeth. He hated this. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything else he hated more than this. There was a whole lot of shit that could take top contender but this…this was something special in the worst way possible. If someone were to forcefully pour truth serum or whatever down his throat and demand he reveal what terrified him the most, Erik knew what he’d say. It wouldn’t be losing or being forgotten or killed. No, his biggest terror, the source of a childish fear that dragged him back into a dark corner was this man. He hated it. He hated this terror, he hated this sniveling, groveling need to be dominated by him. Doms, in general, didn’t scare him. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them but never had he encountered one that was able to get this visceral of a reaction out of him. That was what scared him. That was what set this bastard apart from all the others. 

This man, without even looking at him, without even speaking to him, made him want to submit. He could feel himself being dragged towards him, his heels digging into the dirt as he put all his strength into resisting. This immense aura pressed down on him, whispering that this was what he really wanted, this was what he truly desired. The harder he fought against it, the tighter those silky tendrils became. He felt like a depraved beast, a bitch thinking of nothing but being fucked by the nearest male – it was disgusting, disturbing…terrifying. The only way he knew he would be rid of these insidious desires was to beat this fucker into the dust. He would wait until the Day of Challenge, he would take the throne from this insidious beast but getting through the days up until that point…it might prove an even more difficult challenge than just getting here. 

T’Challa swung one muscular leg in an impressive arc, coming to a stop with a gracefulness that sent a shiver racing down Erik’s spine. Rolling his shoulders, causing the muscles to dance underneath his smooth, beautiful brown skin, T’Challa let out a slow, steady breath then, to Erik’s shock, spoke. 

“Do you plan on just standing there all day, staring at me with those hungry eyes?”

Erik bristled at those calmly spoken words. Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face, furiously wondering just what kind of face he had been making when distracted by T’Challa’s body, Erik pushed off the wall. Shoving his hands into his pocket, he followed the line of the wall, keeping his distance as he stalked the King of Wakanda like the prey he was. He pulled a phone from the pockets of his loose pants, seemingly having entirely forgotten that Erik was there. Stamping down the childish irritation that reared its ugly head at being ignored, Erik kept moving. The room was filled with the scent of worn leather, wood and what was undoubtedly the undiluted scent of T’Challa. Sharp, bitter, masculine and perfect – a scent that made that hunger grow even bigger. Carefully regulating his breaths, focusing every ounce of his attention on the anger bubbling acidily in his belly, Erik came to a stop directly in front of T’Challa. 

Cold, dark eyes slowly, carefully lifted to gaze indifferently at him. Offering a snarky grin, Erik kept his glare directed solely at T’Challa’s eyes. The moment he let them drift, he knew he was going to look down at that perfectly sculpted chest with just the right amount of downy hair sprinkled over the abs and pecs. Rolling back onto the heels of his boots, he cocked his head just a little and said mockingly, “You aren’t feeding me so how else am I supposed to look?”

“Feeding you?”

“That’s right – shoving me to the sidelines like a coward, demanding of me to wait a year so yeah, this look,” Erik circled a finger around his face, “is gonna stay until I can sink my teeth into my prey.”

He held his hands out in a ‘what can you do’ gesture, “I’m a panther, looking for the latest sweet meat to rip apart and you are at the very top of my list.”

T’Challa quirked an unimpressed brow, though Erik was a little annoyed to note that there was a slight amused glint in those dark eyes, “Is that supposed to be a threat, kit?”

“No,” Erik shrugged nonchalantly, “just a simple fact. Threats and such won’t work on you so why waste my breath? No, all of this? It's just letting you know that until the Day of Challenge rolls back around, I'm a shadow that you aren't going to be able to shake."

He shrugged again, his grin widening. Despite what he wanted, it wasn't his intention to appear threatening. Like he said, there was no point in even trying. This man could be warm, he could be inviting – Erik had seen more of his fair share of that during his days of prowling the castle, following T’Challa at a distance to see what he could glean. Sometimes, that inviting nature had even been directed towards him, though he never took advantage of it. Too much of a risk to let this Fucker think he could be swayed with something like that. Plus, it always seemed like it was done out of an obligation, rather than a genuine desire to show him kindness. Threats and taunts just weren't going to do anything worthwhile so why bother with the irritation of him not reacting? As much as he would like to get something, anything out of him, no way in hell was he going to go chasing after it like some giddy schoolboy. 

"Is that so?" T'Challa said quietly, "And tell me, what exactly do you hope to gain by fighting me?"

His eyebrows shot up in surprise before he had time to monitor what his face was doing, "Oh, and what is this? The King of Wakanda showing some interest in the lowly pleb? Has this fierce display pierced through your heart?"

"Fierce?" T'Challa chuckled, a low husky sound that sent reverberations of heat rolling lazily down Erik's spine, "Kit, your roar is about as fierce as a kitten's meow. I've seen domestic cats that are fiercer than you are."

"Wow. That was your most pathetic insult yet. Am I supposed to be trembling, begging you not to compare me to a pussy?"

"Are you going to answer the question or just continue baiting me?"

"To become King…is that not obvious?" Erik replied coldly, "Maybe I just want to win or maybe." He stalked forward, holding T'Challa's gaze. Stopping directly in front of him, hating how he had to raise up a little onto the balls of his feet to be able to thrust his face into T'Challa's, he offered a snarling smile, "But…maybe I just wanna knock you down a couple hundred pegs. Might be nice, seeing you broken and devastated, no longer so sure of your own strength, your own power."

T'Challa quirked his brow, "You really think you're capable of that."

It wasn't a question; it was a simply stated fact, given as though there was no disputing it. Erik had to bite down hard on his tongue to prevent a snapping reply that yes, in fact, he was more than capable of it. This bastard was not going to drag him into acting like some kind of school yard bully! Tilting his head slightly, T'Challa studied him for a moment before abruptly turning. He took a few steps away then swung back around, settling a stern stare on Erik. A familiar quiver shook his legs. Managing to keep that cocky grin on his face, he gave T'Challa a baffled look. When he opened his mouth to deliver another sneering insult, T'Challa cut him off. 

"With all of this grand standing, this peacock display, I don't think I could be blamed for wanting to see if there is anything behind it. Consider my interest piqued...for now. We'll see if you can keep it that way. So, you have your chance, kit." T'Challa spread his legs out into a sturdier stance, holding his curled fists in front of him, "Show me what you can do."

Erik was too stunned by the abrupt change in atmosphere to move at first but recovered quickly. Laughing low in his throat, hating this man, hating how much he admired him, how cool he found him in that one single moment, Erik shred his jacket, tossed it aside without a second glance then walked forward, stopping within arm distance of T'Challa. How this was supposed to go was completely lost on him. All he knew was his own rules. Taking a similar stance, keeping his arms and legs a bit more relaxed than T'Challa, Erik allowed the tension to build for just a few moments, enjoying how all of T'Challa's intense focused was square on him before going in for a low kick. His movements were fast but cautious - meant more to gauge T'Challa's reaction speed. Unsurprisingly, he easily blocked him, dancing back with that same grace that took his breath away. T'Challa didn't immediately retaliate so Erik aimed a blow for his exposed stomach but that too was blocked with no trouble at all. His heart was beating with violent speed, slamming so hard against the confines of his ribs, it felt like it was trying to break out. Despite that rapid speed, his breath was even and controlled. Sweat gathered on his forehead, drenching his hairline and eyebrows. Excitement thundered through his veins. He was rock hard with the first blow but that wasn't too unusual. 

After attempting a couple more blows, T'Challa finally hit back, slinging one arm in a powerful but smooth arc straight at Erik's side. The motion came out of nowhere, projecting from what seemed like a simple dodge. He just barely managed to get out of the way, flinging himself to the side in the knick of time to miss that clenched hand but in his hurry to get out of the way, he failed to notice the knee raising up into the air. All the air was knocked out of him when a muscular leg slammed into his midsection. Doubling over, his vision blurring into a grey mass for just long enough to leave him completely vulnerable, a spew of spit flew out of his mouth. Sharp pain radiated out from the source of impact. Nothing he couldn't handle but getting hit so hard in the stomach was never easy to quickly bounce back from. Before he had time to recover, there was an arm around his throat. From there, everything happened so quickly, he couldn't keep track. One moment, he was standing upright, lifting a leg to drive it back against one of T'Challa's, desperately hoping that he could knock him off balance long enough to get free. The next, he was being slammed down onto the smooth, polished floor with enough floor to make his bones rattle. Groaning, every muscle in his body humming with warning twangs of pain, Erik dragged in a wheezing breath. A knee landed on the center of his back, pinning him to the floor. The taste of copper spread out over his tongue. When his face made impact, one of his incisors must've cut up the inside of his cheek. 

"Well done.” T’Challa said, not a trace of amusement or mockery in his voice, “Not many could have lasted that long. You did well, kit.”

Erik let out a sharp laugh. So…this was the power of the man who had consumed the heart shaped herb? Even after all of his years of vigorously training his body, did this mean he still stood no chance against him? Erik gave his head a little shake to clear it. No…no, he had simply been taken by surprise. He had been overconfident – a killer in this field. Next time, he wouldn’t be taken down so easily…nor would he allow himself to become so giddy over being praised by the man he was trying to defeat! Craning his head around with some difficultly, he glared up at T'Challa, only for his heart to lurch hard. There was no boredom, no disinterest, no detachment in T’Challa’s gaze. Rather, he was looking at him with a strange intensity. Something hot danced in those dark eyes. His stare seemed to bore through him, leaving him feeling exposed right down to his very core. It was like the man was looking into him, stripping away all of his defenses. T’Challa pressed his knee deeper into Erik’s back. When he only just barely managed to stifle a moan, the fire burning in those dark eyes grew even hotter. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! His body was aching but the pain was totally overrun by the pleasure screeching gleefully through his veins. His cock was a throbbing mess of heat and wetness in his underwear, longing to be touched, to be handled with that same kind of roughness. A tiny voice in the back of his mind gasped and panted like a bitch in heat, demanding more, begging for more. He shoved it away, pushing it back down into his subconscious, where it belonged but it wasn't going easily. It clung to the edges of his mind, pushing its disgusting weeds into the synapses, spreading that ecstasy further and further until he couldn't feel the pain at all. Snorting quietly, T'Challa relented, removing his knee from Erik's back. For the briefest moment, he experienced a near deranged shriek of dismay. More! More! He wanted to be dominated by this incredible beast even more! Struggling to keep the pace of his breath even, Erik first pushed up onto his hands, his arms visibly trembling then knees before finally planting his butt down on the cool floor. 

T'Challa walked around to stand in front of him. He half expected a boot to the stomach. Pulling in a deep breath in an attempt to quell the excitement buzzing in the base of his belly, Erik hesitated for a moment. For the first time in a long time, he was lost. What...what did he do now? Get up and walk away like some kind of dog with its tail between its legs? Make some kind of snarky comment? Laugh and admit that he had underestimated T'Challa? Nothing...nothing he could think of would save his pride. He wasn't just burned, he was scorched and what was worse...he wanted even more of those flames. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, Erik abruptly came to the resolute decision that finding a dignified way out of this wasn't the most important right now. What was most important was just getting away. This...it was dangerous territory. He might as well be swimming in shark infested waters. If it hadn't been clear before just how much this man affected him, it was certainly clear now. He pulled in another breath. Back to the hostel to re-group then...he would change tactics. There had to be people all across Wakanda who wanted to see T’Challa fall. He would leave this city for a few days, track down anyone who he could ally himself with and then, when this insistent fire had faded, he would return. This was something he was gonna learn from and move on. He hadn't come this far to be taken out of running after getting a few knocks. Now, he knew just what T'Challa was capable of. This man was far stronger than he ever could have imagined. Good, knowing that was good - it gave him something to stride for. He had an entire year now to get even stronger, to get even better so that when the time came around again, he wouldn't be knocked onto his ass. 

"Nothing to say, kit?" T’Challa’s asked quietly. 

"Fuck you." Erik muttered darkly. 

That nickname he was unceremoniously dubbed was really starting to grate on his nerves but what made it even worse was how much his blood hummed in giddy excitement every time it was said in that low, silky purr. Enough of this - there was no reason for him to stick around after getting his ass so thoroughly kicked. Bracing his hands against the floor, he made to get up. In his rage and dizzy infatuation, another mistake was make. Seemed to be the common thing nowadays. He failed to realize that his legs were spread wide open, giving T'Challa unobstructed view and access to his crotch. A sharp, jagged cry erupted from his lips when a hard boot suddenly slammed down onto his erection. White flashed across his vision. There was pain but it was an afterthought to the immense blast of pleasure that rippled out from the point of impact. Gasping loudly, Erik's hips bucked uncontrollably, grinding against the firm treads of T'Challa's boot. His teeth gnashed together. Spots danced in front of his eyes. All the strength fled from his body, leaving him bowing over underneath the weight of how fucking good it felt. Curling one hand around T'Challa's ankle, he weakly tried to move it away, only for that bastard to grind the sole harder against him. 

"Now, now." T'Challa murmured, his voice piercing through the golden haze taking possession over Erik's mind. "Show a little sportsmanship. Are you a sore loser on top of being a hissing kitten?"

"Shut up-!" He ground out through clenched teeth. Desperately scrambling to get a hold of himself, Erik tightened his hold on T'Challa's ankle, his blunt fingernails digging into the material of his trousers. He would not be made a fool of! This fucking Dom...he wouldn't submit to him! He wouldn't let him treat him like-! T'Challa put even more pressure on his cock. The sole pushed hard against the head, crushing underneath a textured web of thick rubber. A blanket of dense fog drenched his mind, drowning out all of his anger, all of his resistance. Fuck...his cock...it was being pulverized! It was an inexplicable kind of pain, one that left his body screaming out for more. He...he wanted that heavy boot to crush him, to destroy him. Panting heavily, sweat rolling into his eyes, making them sting, Erik bit down hard enough on his lower lip to draw blood. Fuck...fuck, fuck…bad, this was bad!. No, bad wasn't a good enough word. This...it was dangerous. He could feel himself submitting, he could feel T'Challa's teeth sinking into his mind, anchoring them together. Any more than this and he...he might not be able to get away. 

The thought sent a spasm of fear through his stomach, wrenching him back to the reality of what was happening. He couldn't let this fucker win over him! He couldn't-!

T'Challa laughed huskily, putting even more pressure on his throbbing, aching dick. Calloused fingers wrapped around his jaw, tilting his head back so he was forced to look up at T’Challa. A small smile curled at the corners of his lips. While he was still maintaining that cool, composed expression, his eyes betrayed how excited he was. Leaning down so his face was hovering directly above Erik’s, he murmured, his voice low and silky, "Are you going to cum just from my boot, little kit? I want to see that…I want to see you cum from just this. Won’t you show me, kit? Let me see your face while you cum."

...fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

The pace of his breathing rapidly picked up. Every nerve in his body was being overloaded with ecstasy. Was there even any pain left? He couldn't tell, everything was being swallowed up by the electric pleasure. Buzzing heat spread out from the bottom of his belly, quickly overtaking every inch of him until he felt like he was standing directly underneath the sun. His cock twitched hard against the underside of T'Challa's boot. Tremors shook his already violently shaking legs. His balls tightened, right on the precipice of ejecting his load all over the inside of his underwear. Cumming...cumming, cumming, cumming! He was gonna fucking cum-! 

Suddenly, the pressure was gone from his cock, leaving him standing right on that glorious edge, looking down at the mind shattering orgasm that could've been. Without thought, his head shot up to find T'Challa staring down at him with that same distant expression. Their eyes met. A shaft of cold pierced through his chest. Panting hard, very rapidly coming back to himself, realizing just what kind of spectacle he had been putting on, Erik swallowed against the dryness in his throat. There was no rage, no shame, nothing other than that gnawing, howling need. Without a word, T'Challa turned sharply on his heel and walked away. The sound of his boots clumping against the floor echoed throughout the otherwise silent room. He pushed the door open and disappeared, leaving Erik sitting on the floor, his legs still spreading, chest heaving, a wailing shriek of dismay steadily growing louder inside his head. Erik stared after him long after he disappeared. The heat and pleasure continued to cling to his nerves, stubbornly refusing to diminish even with the source of all that ecstasy gone. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to finally get to his feet. By that point, his cock had gone back to a half-hard softie, the pleasure had faded away to a distracting simmer and the heat was an afterthought but he...he was still on fire. Turning slowly, Erik stumbled all the way back to his hostel. The world was a blur of motion that existed in a completely separate sphere to his current reality. Someone could have come at him with a knife and he wouldn't have even seen them. Once he was behind the safety of a closed door, he ripped off his pants, collapsed onto the bed and furiously stroked his now completely limp member. Usually, it didn't take him long to get erect but this time...no matter how much he played with it, no matter what sensitive spots he exploited, he couldn't get hard. Even drenching his fingers with spit and shoving them into his ass to stimulate his prostate - a surefire way to get a quick orgasm - didn't even manage to get a twitch out of his traitorous dick. He kept it at for an hour before finally collapsing onto his bed, arm aching, penis numb and his fingers straining to straighten back out. Panting hard, his body drenched in cold sweat, he stared up at the slowly revolving ceiling fan, dread building up in the center of his chest. 

Bad. Oh fuck, this was so fucking bad. 

That damned bastard...if he had just made him cum, he wouldn't be dealing with this bullshit right now! It was only because he backed out right at the last moment that he was- Erik froze, his shoulders tensing up painfully. No...no, that wasn't right. That wasn't what he should be mad about. How could he had let something like that happen?! Had his brain been so scrambled by T'Challa hurling him down onto the floor that he couldn't even recognize how much danger he was putting himself into?! No matter how much he hated it, the fact that this body, this mind wanted so desperately to submit to a Dom like T'Challa was something he couldn't hide from and shouldn’t, under any circumstances, ignore. That was a one-way ticket to a big fucking over that he really didn’t want to have to deal with. More than enough Doms had fucked him over the years. He had picked himself up and moved on from them with varying levels of difficultly but T’Challa…he wasn’t anything like he’d encountered before. Why had he let him get so close? Why had he dropped his guard? 

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. A stupid question – he knew damn well why he hadn’t been as careful about that bastard as he should’ve been. When it came to a Dom like him, he was like a bitch in heat, chasing after that sweet scent and irresistible pleasure without a single goddamn thought given to what might happen to him. He might as well be running out straight into rush hour traffic, blindly going after a bit of tail. A ragged, trembling sigh slipped free from his lips. He slumped further forward. Now, he was in big fucking trouble. He…he would stick to his updated plan: continue shadowing T’Challa to glean more information on him that he could use when they faced each other once again, and scour all of Wakanda to find allies. Not even this childish terror could drive him from his purpose. He would defeat T’Challa; he would conquer Wakanda but the first step towards that had now changed. 

There was a poison in him. It weaved through his veins, tainting every drop of his blood. T’Challa had injected it into him – he had sunk those sharp teeth into his skin, tore at his flesh and left a disease that would eat him up from the inside out. It was the sickness of desire. His body longed for that domination. It longed to be handled roughly, to be sweetly driven towards submission. T’Challa had brought out the worst part of him with a boot to his crotch. He had found that one tiny aspect of his being that he shoved down whenever it dared rear its ugly head and dragged it out for the whole world to see. And he…he had loved every moment of it. He wanted more of it. That…that was now his greatest challenge. There was only one way to drive this poison from his flesh. Leave the palace…for now. Run to the farthest corners of Wakanda. Spend the next year building up his resources, his allies so that when the day came that he took the throne from T’Challa, he would be ready to deal with the aftermath. 

Only…leaving would not be that easy. Getting this poison out of his body would not be that easy. No, T’Challa’s teeth were sunk deep into his mind. The moment he tried to run, he would be dragged back – even if T’Challa never glanced at him again, this desire would remain, eating him up, demanding satisfaction. There was only one way he could free himself from this torture. One more time…he would stand before T’Challa one more time and when those cold, uninterested eyes swung down to focus on him, he knew he would be able to silence that voice whispering for more. 

-

For the first time since he started wandering the halls of the palace, looking for T'Challa, a guard stopped him. When she approached, her dark eyes as hard as onyx stones, he fully expected for her to tell him that he was no longer welcome there and she would be escorting him out, followed by one of those deceptively slender hands clamping down on his forearm with enough strength to make his bones feel like they were going to crack. An annoying nuisance but one he could get around. He didn't like the idea of playing this game while that fire was starting to become unbearable, tearing through him like a beast on a rampage - not like he had made choice, though. Although, he could take this as indication that T'Challa had no more interest in him. That thought sparked a little hope but not enough to make him just turn around and leave. Just hearing T'Challa wanted nothing more to do with him wouldn't be enough. He needed to see that distant gaze himself to give himself the best chance of dousing this wildfire. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he returned her curious stare with a bored one. Offering a sardonic smile, he said, “Morning.” 

"The King wants to see you." Was what he got in response. 

"...huh?" Erik laughed incredulously, earning himself a reproachful glare. Wanted to see him? Was this some kind of joke? The mighty King of Wakanda, actually sending for him?

Without offering any other explanation, the guard turned and began to briskly walk away. Erik held back for a moment, hoping that his refusal to follow might prompt some more information but the guard didn't even glance back, much less slow down so, with a confused frown tugging at the corners of his lips, he ran after her, quickly catching up and falling into place behind her. T'Challa wanted to see him? What, did the bastard want to tell him to fuck off personally? He wouldn't really mind that - would save him a lot of trouble, in fact. Still, anxiety pricked at his stomach. As much as he would like to believe that this was going to all end up in some blowout that would, finally, leave him utterly cold to the man, nothing about this entire fucking thing had indicated that anything was ever going to go how he expected. He couldn't lower his guard again. He needed to keep himself on his toes, always. T'Challa had proven himself, time and time again, to be a man reckoned with. Erik wasn't particularly feeling being jerked around again. 

The guard led him through a maze of hallways before stopping in front of a pair of grand double doors. She raised one hand to knock. 

"Enter." T'Challa's smooth voice came from the other side. A bolt of tingles raced through his body, making him shiver. The guard shot him an amused look, like a woman who knew exactly what was going on and saw it more as teatime gossip than anything else, but he was too involved with viciously stamping away at that reaction to really notice. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Erik followed in after her without waiting to be prompted to do so. The room on the other side was clearly a study. Tall shelves made of some kind of dark wood lined the walls. Each shelf was overflowing with books, statutes, artifacts and other random shit. What looked to be a 3D map of Wakanda glimmered and gleamed from above a table in the center of the room. Dozens of couches and chairs, accompanied with elegant tables sat in strategic locations. The large room was lined with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, giving an almost perfect panoramic view of the gorgeous landscape of Wakanda. At the end of the room was a massive desk, stacked high with data pads and papers. Sitting behind it was T'Challa, who was flipping through a heavy looking book with one hand and taking notes with the other. 

“My king.” The guard said, clicking her heels sharply together, “I have retrieved one Erik Killmonger.”

“Thank you.” T’Challa replied without looking up. “You may go.”

“Sir!” With another look flashed Erik’s way, one that couldn’t quite discern but could tell wasn’t aggressive, the guard turned and marched out, quietly closing the door behind her. Silence fell over the room. Erik waited a few moments but when T’Challa kept turning through the pages without showing any indication that he was going to speak, he wandered off with an irritated sigh and an eyeroll. He went to the 3D map first, bending over to peer into the hills and valleys. Something about the contrast of the mighty steel of the cities standing stark against the desert plains had always been beautiful to him. Wakanda was something so civil, so sophisticated yet so wild and untamed at the same time. Erik looked back at T’Challa over his shoulder; a lot like someone else he knew. With Wakanda, that was a compliment, a bow to their strong nature but for this King? He wasn’t too sure. There was a wild side to him – one that was far more dangerous than even the most untouched parts of Wakanda. A beast lay dormant behind that smooth surface, lurking, waiting for the slightest provocation to come out and take an unwitting victim between sharp, gnashing teeth. 

Unfortunately for him, he seemed to have woken the panther. 

Giving his head a slight shake, ignoring the thrum of excitement that the thought was answered with, Erik moved onto the shelves, quietly perusing them, his eyes roaming over the stark or worn titles. Many were in a language he didn’t recognize, leaving him to wonder if there was an older tongue spoken in Wakanda. Given how old the country was, it was far from conceivable. He pulled out a few of the books to glance through – there was theory of war, strategies, philosophy and history. To his surprise, he managed to stumble across a children’s book, complete with illustrations. The spine was well worn, practically falling apart. The pages were yellowed, bent and rippled. Some of the ink had faded but the pictures themselves were still somewhat vibrant. Curious, he flipped through it. The story was short, simple – dealing with the idea of forgiveness and kindness. General kid’s lesson type of stuff. He could remember reading something similar back in elementary school. Why this was in the King’s study was lost on him, though.

“My Grandmother gave that to me when I was a child.” T’Challa suddenly said, his voice coming from directly behind him. 

He jumped, nearly dropping the book. Flushing, furious that the fucker had been able to creep up on him, Erik resisted the urge to step back when he found that T’Challa was right behind him – close enough that he would barely have to lift his arm to touch him. Offering a sneering smile, he asked mockingly, “What, does she come read you a bedtime story? You sit on her knee while eating cookies?”

Unsurprisingly, that got nothing out of the stoic King. Silently taking the book from Erik, T’Challa carefully slipped it back where it belonged. He trailed his fingers down the worn spine, a somber expression on his handsome face, “When my Grandmother passed, I was devastated. At that age, I didn’t understand death and couldn’t comprehend where she was, where she had gone. To comfort me, my Mother told me that she had poured so much love into this book while reading it to me that her heart, her soul could be found in every single page.”

T’Challa chuckled, “It’s a ludicrous sentiment now but then, it was got me through that grief. Now, I can’t stand to part from this old thing. Even years later, it still brings me so much comfort.”

Erik said nothing, too weirded out by T’Challa sharing such a tale. What was the point of telling him something like that? Was he supposed to ooh and aah like a woman, whispering that was such a poignant story? While he could understand the sentiment and perhaps could make the comment that he had something similar, there was no point in any of this. It just felt like they were filling up empty air. Anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to another, he let the silence build up for a few moments between them before posing the obvious question, “So, what is it you want? You finally decide that you’re gonna kick me out?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“….huh?” Erik gawked, gobsmacked. 

Sighing, T’Challa continued, “My behavior yesterday was cruel and violent. I should not have done such a thing without getting your permission first. I…” he paused for a moment, his gaze sliding off to the side, “I was overwhelmed. It has been a very long time since anyone has managed to make me feel this…exhilarated. Seeing you on the floor, thighs spread, erection visible, I was unable to contain myself. I understand that this is no excuse nor does it justify my behavior. I hope you will forgive me.”

T’Challa bowed. Erik stared at him, mouth hanging open. Was…was this some kind of joke? A Dom…actually apologizing for acting like an ass? No…no, he had to be dreaming. The pleasure from yesterday really had scrambled his brains! Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, instantly on guard, a little disturbed by this unusual behavior, Erik dragged his tongue over his teeth. This had to be some kind of ploy. There was no other reason for a Dom like him to be apologizing. Problem was, he couldn’t figure the specifics. Best he could think of was that T’Challa had clued in on what he was planning but that…it didn’t make any sense. He was the King of fucking Wakanda – he could have him imprisoned with a snap of his fingers if he thought something was amiss! What was this fucking play of being remorseful over something like that?! Aggravated, Erik quickly came to the conclusion that the best reaction was to play along. If T’Challa was planning something, he wanted to know what it was but he couldn’t let him know that he was on to him. 

“It’s fine.” Erik replied, rolling his shoulders, “Used to that behavior by now so it’s not like it bothers me. Could have gotten me off, at least. You know how irritating it is to be left hanging like that?”

T’Challa stared at him for a moment with an unreadable, strange look on his face then slowly walked forward. Holding his ground, wondering just what in the hell was going on, Erik gazed back, keeping that easygoing smirk on his face. Well, whatever this was, he wasn’t going to let T’Challa see how much it was unnerving him. He knew they existed, but he hadn’t ever really encountered a Dom who used emotional manipulation. The majority he’d dealt with were pretty forward with what they wanted. He wasn’t too fond of this dancing around the subject. If T’Challa wanted something, he should just come out and say it. This was starting to get really annoying. Stopping directly in front of him, close enough that if Erik were to reach out, he would barely have to lift his arm before it collided with T’Challa’s solid form. Dark eyes searched his face, almost as though he was looking for something specific. 

“What?” Erik asked, “I got something on my face? Or am I just so pretty that you can’t stop staring?”

“You are beautiful.” T’Challa replied without hesitation. Before Erik had time to react to that (not that it would have been anything more than a startled laugh – seriously, what was this fucker planning?!), he continued, “I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Erik repeated in disbelief.

Clasping his hands behind his back, T’Challa nodded, “Yes. For the next year, until the next Day of Challenge, be my sub.”

Erik let out a sharp bark of laughter, “Stop fucking around.”

“I’m not.” T’Challa returned sincerely, “You heard me earlier, correct? It has been a long time since anyone has been able to excite me to this extent. I am not too keen on the idea of simply stepping back and allowing this opportunity to pass. You just said that you were irritated that I didn’t let you cum. Well, consider me frustrated as well.”

T’Challa stepped even closer. Their chests bumped together. His heart was beating so quickly, it felt as though it might crack his ribs. Excitement thundered through his veins. It took every ounce of his self-control to not suck in a deep breath to fill his lungs with T’Challa’s gorgeous scent. A part of him wanted to turn T’Challa down right there and then – he didn’t need a Dom and he certainly didn’t need one like T’Challa but the words stayed stuck at the back of his throat. Instead of saying anything, he cocked his head, quirking a curious brow at T’Challa. He honestly didn’t know what to make of this but…he was willing to hear the bastard out, at least. Those dark eyes roamed over him, bringing back the sensation of being stripped naked while still standing there with his heavy coat hung from his shoulders. T’Challa slowly reached out to very cautiously, very gently rest one of his hands over Erik’s heart. 

He half expected him to point out how fast his heart was going but, instead, he said softly, “We’re both frustrated. I will not put words in your mouth, but I will be honest on my own feelings. I want more.”

“Oh yeah? And what does ‘more’ entail?” 

“Holding you down, driving you to the very edge, dragging you right up to the verge of breaking then, just as you cannot take another moment, giving you the relief you desire. I want to mark every inch of your body. I want to see the face you make as you’re begging me to let you cum. I want to test the depths of your strength and endurance, to see how much you can take before you kneel – not by a command from me but because you simply cannot hold your head up any longer. I want,” T’Challa offered the slightest hint of a smile, “to be satisfied.”

There was no air left in his lungs. T’Challa had stolen his breath with that first sentence. Erik stared at him, his body alight with a delirious heat. Sometime during that spiel – he wasn’t exactly sure what had done it – all the blood in his head had rushed down to his cock. Pressing up against the constraints of his jeans, it pulsed eagerly inside his underwear. Precum slid down the underside, soaking through the fabric. He swallowed hard, the dry linings of his throat clicking as they rubbed together. Fuck…he didn’t go easy, did he? T’Challa gazed at him impassively, awaiting his answer. Pushing a hand through his hair, Erik did something he very rarely did – he turned away. He couldn’t think straight with those dark eyes on him. Then, he did something else he very rarely did: he turned his back to T’Challa. Walking away a few steps, his hands propped on his hips, he stared out the nearby window without really seeing the bright blue sky outside. 

Okay, so this wasn’t going how he expected. In fact, this had taken an almost violent turn off onto an unknown side street. Right now, he was hurling at full speed down an unfamiliar road…but this was an opportunity that he had to think hard about. Wasn’t his entire thought before he came here to get more intel on T’Challa? To find out what made him weak? To discover everything about him so he could exploit it when the time came? What better way to do it than to become this bastard’s ‘plaything’? It was perfect. Now he understood why the fucker had apologized. Buttering him up before getting to what he really wanted, huh? That was fine with him – only verified that he was just like any other Dom. While this fucker did have a powerful as fuck aura, he was no different from any other Dom he had played with over the years. The thought brought him a fair amount of comfort. If T’Challa was like any other Dom, then he could handle it with no problem. 

Rolling his shoulders, Erik pushed a hand through his hair. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted to gather his intel but…he wasn’t exactly complaining. After all, if he was going to be here, why not have some fun? This fucking Dom wouldn’t get the better of him. He would learn everything there was to know about T’Challa then, after he beat him on the Day of Challenge, he would show him just what kind of panther he was dealing with. 

“Alright.” Erik said, turning back around. “You wanna play? Let’s play.”

A brief, satisfied expression flashed across T’Challa’s face. Nodding slightly, he strode past Erik, who instinctively stepped out of his way and immediately kicked himself for doing so (should have just let the fucker go around him), over to his desk. He stepped over to the other side, bending down to open one of the drawers. As he was rummaging around inside, he ordered in a low voice, “Then, strip.”

“…. I beg your pardon?” Erik laughed after a startled beat, convinced that he must have heard him wrong. Were they seriously starting already? What, this fucker wasn’t going to make him sign a contract or something?

T’Challa straightened up to give him an irritated look that brought his knees close to buckling. Fuck, this asshole could flip the switch so quickly, it gave him whiplash. Walking back around the desk, a small leather bag clasped in one of his large hands, T’Challa repeated in the same low, firm voice, his hard eyes focused squarely on Erik, “Strip. Now.”

The world seemed to tilt. Time slowed down to an almost comical pace, creating a loud whooshing in his ears as his sputtering mind tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Blistering heat scorched the surface of his skin. He suddenly felt as though he had gone several days without drinking water. His already rock hard cock became even stiffer, twitching violently with a spasm of excitement. Fuck, okay, they were already getting started. He supposed he should have expected that. Again, not that he was complaining. If anything, he appreciated that T’Challa had stopped beating around the bush. With a dizzy thump, he realized that he had already began to move. Fabric brushed over his face as he tugged off his loose t-shirt. Somewhere in the space of time he had been lost in the heat, he had kicked his boots off. Dropping it to the floor without a single glance, his trembling hands moved to his pants. It took a couple tries to get everything unbuckled and unzipped but he eventually got his fingers to work enough to be able to push his pants and underwear down. His painfully hard cock bounced out. A pearl of precum swelled to the tip, clung for just a breath of a second before dribbling down to plop onto the polished floor. 

T’Challa’s hard gaze roamed over his naked body, riling that terrifying heat up even further. Pointing to the space in front of the 3D map, he said, “Kneel.”

Focusing on just regulating the pace of his breathing, Erik walked over to where T’Challa was indicating and kneeled. His knees hit the smooth, cool floors with a soft thump. Sweat rolled in fat droplets down his forehead, chest and back. Pulling in a deep breath, he raised his head to stare at T’Challa has he strode forward. Fuck, they hadn’t even really started yet and he was already this fucking excited. His stomach was doing cartwheels. The roar of blood in his ears was so loud, it almost drowned out the sound of his thunderous heartbeat. Stopping in front of him, T’Challa squatted down, dropped the bag beside him and reached inside to pull out something that made Erik’s breath catch. A black, shiny chastity cage. Drool poured into the space underneath his tongue. His heart seemed to skid to a stop in a wild shock, gawk for a moment then race back to suicidal pace. He was so distracted by the fact that T’Challa was holding a chastity cage just a few inches away from his dick that he couldn’t stop the strained groan when those long, calloused fingers wrapped loosely around him. A blast of heat rocketed through him. The world swam with a blur of dulled colors. Just a slight touch…and he already felt as though he might cum. 

“Do not move.” T’Challa said coldly, the warning of what would happen if he did apparent in his voice. 

Sucking in a slow, shuddery breath, hating the tremble that had overwhelmed his body, hating how much he was enjoying just this, hating that he wanted so much more, Erik focused all of his attention on maintaining that stillness. It took near all of his mental fortitude to keep himself from bucking into T’Challa’s hold as he expertly got the chastity cage onto his throbbing cock. It hurt – the cage was a little too small for his fully erect length but the pain only added further to the incredible pleasure. He was shaking so badly by the time T’Challa finally got the damn thing on, he felt like he might fall over at any moment. His eyes stung from an excess of sweat pouring through his brows. T’Challa flicked the head of his cock. He just barely managed to bite back what would have been an embarrassingly loud moan. Chuckling under his breath, T’Challa reached over to the bag once more. This time, he pulled out three bullet vibes – each one a deep purple and about the size of his thumb. Erik’s hole twitched hungrily. His gaze was glued to them until T’Challa reached around to his backside. 

When that large, hot hand grabbed his ass in a rough, tight grip, he nearly lost the hold he had on himself. The sensation of T’Challa’s calloused skin rubbing against his own was at an ungodly level of amazing. Spreading him open, T’Challa pressed the first vibe to his tight, unprepped hole. Despite there not being anything down there that’d make it easy for the vibe to slide in, T’Challa had no trouble pushing it inside. Erik bite down hard on the interior of his cheek. There was the tiniest bit of pain, a lot more itching and a tremendous amount of devastating pleasure. His hole sung with delirious rapture as T’Challa pushed the vibe deep inside. Before he had time to adjust to that both welcome and unwelcome intrusion, he shoved in the second then the third. By that point, Erik was nearly hyperventilating. The dumb things weren’t even on and he was already this fucking aroused! What was going to happen to him when he did turn them on? The thought managed to get a single twinge of fear out of him but it came just at the moment that T’Challa was turning the vibes on. 

It was a miracle that he didn’t cum the instant those intense reverberations erupted out from deep inside his ass. Grinding his teeth together, his back bowing underneath the pressure of the pleasure, Erik somehow managed to raise his head when he sensed, rather than saw, T’Challa walk away. He went back over to his desk, leaving Erik to wonder for the first time since all this started just what in the hell was happening. What…what was T’Challa doing? What was he planning? Why was he doing this? The thoughts bounced sluggishly around his mind, slowly being drowned out as the pleasure continued to pulse through his nerves. Erik thought about asking but, even if he could force his lips and tongue to formulate words, he knew it wasn’t a good idea to ask. Right now, he needed to be silent and still. He didn’t want to know what T’Challa would do if he spoke or move. T’Challa picked up what looked to be a simple cylinder with two metal triangles at both ends. 

“You’re doing so well.” T’Challa purred. Leaning forward, he nuzzled Erik’s cheek, sending a fresh bolt of heat shrieking down his spine, “Is it alright? Does anything hurt? I can loosen the cage, if needed.”

Erik shakily shook his head. No…this pain, he loved this pain. Seemingly satisfied with that response, T’Challa stood. Stopping a few inches in front of him, T’Challa squatted back down and placed the cylinder onto the floor. When he pressed his thumb against the smooth curve, a display panel flickered to life. He tapped a couple of things, seemingly at random, then a beam of blue light erupted out from the center of the cylinder. It shot straight up a few feet into the air, remained still for a moment before spreading out in a smooth sheet. A loud hum filled the room as the sheet of blue surrounded Erik. Blinking rapidly, each breath coming out as a ragged pant, Erik momentarily forgot the instruction to not move – his head slowly swiveled around to follow the blanket of light as it fully encased him. Trapped. What…what was he planning? 

Slowly straightening up, T’Challa brushed nonexistent debris from his slacks, “In about two minutes,” he glanced at the silver watch on his wrist, “correction, one minute – all of my generals and advisors will pour into this room for a strategy meeting. This,” T’Challa tapped the other side of the barrier, “will prevent them from seeing you, hearing you. I will be the only one who can see you. They will not know that you are even here…unless I deactivate the barrier.”

T’Challa held up a small remote for Erik to see. Erik swallowed hard, his heart wildly thumping. He would never admit it aloud but the thought of the highest officials in Wakanda seeing him like this…it was incredibly, unbearably exciting. Pulling in a slow, trembling breath, Erik remained silent, waiting to see where exactly T’Challa was going to go with this. Obviously…there was going to be some kind of trigger that would lead him to deactivate the barrier. Considering his experience with Doms (and the toys he was using), he could take a guess just what it was going to be. 

“Raise your arms. Hold them out straight.” T’Challa ordered quietly, turning to walk briskly back to his desk. 

Erik did as he was told as T’Challa sat back down into the elegant leather chair behind the desk. Picking up his pen once more, he said without looking up, “You are not to move from that position, cum or make any noise. If you do, I will drop the barrier. Know this, little kit. I could not care less if they see you. It would be easy enough to spin a tale as to why you are there.”

T’Challa paused for a moment then said, “Do you wish to continue, kit?”

Erik started at him through the blur of sweat. What kind of stupid fucking question was that? Why was T’Challa annoying him by asking that? Did he want to continue? No, he wanted T’Challa to remove all this shit and leaving him burning with this insatiable heat. He wanted to be left thoroughly unsatisfied. After already going through the process of getting into this position, no way in hell was he going to back down. Did T’Challa think he was a coward or something? Offering a snarling smirk, he sneered, “Get on with it.” 

The answer seemed to satisfy T’Challa, who said, “I am the only one who can hear you. At any time that this becomes too much, say ‘King’ and I will bring everything to a halt.”

“You gonna give me a reward if I do as I’m told?” Erik asked mockingly. 

He fully expected for T’Challa to snort and dismiss the question, maybe even mock him for expecting to get anything out of this other than frustration and dissatisfaction but…everything was just so full of surprises nowadays. Giving him an annoyed look, T’Challa said calmly, “That is usually how this goes. You have around thirty seconds before they are set to arrive. Prepare yourself, kit. I don’t plan on going easy on you.”

Erik barked out a sharp peal of laughter, “Bring it. I’ll show you that nothing you do can break me.”

“Good.” T’Challa replied, sounding undeniably pleased then turned back to his book just as the doors swung open, letting in a horde of men and women. There were a lot more of them than he had been expecting. By the time the doors were closed once again, the room was almost completely full. Somehow, no one bumped into the barrier (or, at least, didn’t give any indication that they had) as they settled in. T’Challa greeted them warmly, getting up from his desk to talk to many of them personally. Ambivalent conversation filled the room as servants entered from a side door, carrying large platters of fancy looking hors d’oeurves around the room. Keeping his head as still as possible, Erik surveyed the group. If anyone sensed something was up, they weren’t showing it. Though, it was hard to tell with his limited range of vision. T’Challa circled the room, prompting people to sit, eat before turning to his desk as soon as everyone had settled down. 

Dark eyes briefly flickered his way, causing him to jump a little. There was a challenge in that gaze – could he do it? Could he make it through his meeting and show off just how strong he was? Erik glared back defiantly, struggling not to show just how much the pleasure was already beginning to affect him. Bring it, he wanted to snarl. He could do this. There was nothing that T’Challa could do that could take him down. Settling in, Erik tapped into the meditation techniques he was taught a long time ago. He had gone through far worse endurance training than this. Sure, it was beyond aggravating to have those rapidly humming vibes wreaking havoc on his insides, the chastity cage digging into his over-sensitive cock but he wasn’t about to go down. Controlling the rate of his breathing, treating all of the stimulation the same way he would treat vigorous exercise, Erik focused intently on what the group was talking about. Something about land development – boring but still something he could hone in on. Confident that he could do this, Erik kept his defiant glare pointed right at T’Challa, who, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to notice. 

Seconds ticked by. The conversation switched topics from land development to a building tensions between two tribes. Servants came in once again, bringing fresh food and drinks. Laughter filled the room as a rotund man cracked a joke about something that Erik couldn’t quite catch. Even T’Challa laughed, giving Erik a perfect view of a natural, genuine smile. It was annoyingly gorgeous – one that he could easily see having both guys and girls dropping their pants without complaint. The conversation derailed for a while before abruptly jumping back to topic when T’Challa lightly clapped his desk, still chuckling low in his throat. The talking marched on. The light pouring in through the window changed quality – going from almost painfully right to a pale, subdued yellow hue. Panting heavily, his limbs violently quaking, his cock on fire, an unbearable pressure pushed against the base of his belly, Erik gnawed on his lower lip. He could no longer focus on what was happening around him. All of his attention was solely focused on not cumming. Pleasure gnawed away at his resolve. His ass was a constantly twitching mess, sending out endless shockwaves of burning ecstasy. Fuck…how much longer was this going to take?! A couple hours must have passed already! 

Erik let his eyes flutter closed, his head drooping just a little. Focus – he could do this. No matter how long it took, he could get through this without fail. T’Challa was going to push him to his absolute limit and he was going to show him that no matter how hard he shoved, he wasn’t going to fall. To keep his mind off of just how bad this shit was starting to get, he dredged up math problems, logic puzzles, riddles, anything he could think of to yank his attention away from how much he needed to cum. More and more talk – it all sounded like gibberish too him. Servants came and went, expertly weaving around the mess of people sitting wherever. The amount of light coming in from the outside started to dim. His arms were aching terribly. His nerves hummed in protest, twanging and trembling as he forced them to remain in place. His legs were numb. His ass was starting to feel the friction of having those stupid things on for so long but that only added to the pleasure even more. There was a strange combination of numbness and throbbing pain. Sweat dotted the floor. His hair was soaked with it. Dizziness plagued him – coming from the combination of the beginnings of dehydration and the continued stimulation. 

It was as the servants were coming in once again to turn on the various lamps around the room that he started to realize that he might not actually be able to do this. How long had he been kneeling there? It must have been upwards of five hours now. There was practically no light coming in from the outside, yet the conversation didn’t seem to have slowed at all. If anything, the fading light seemed to bring in even more energy. While the atmosphere became more relaxed, conversation became livelier. There was more laughter, more derailing from the main topic, more playful banter. T’Challa often stepped in to get things back on track but was clearly enjoying himself, sometimes even telling his own jokes or encouraging others to keep going. Erik heard the laughter but couldn’t make out the words. He watched through a blur of sweat, no longer able to feel agitated by just how badly his body was trembling. What energy he had left was being put entirely towards not cumming. He was entering a familiar state of suspended consciousness. He was aware of what was going on but it was like he was in a dream. 

A dangerous state to let himself fall into it but it wasn’t really by his choice. As time continued to march on with no indication that this meeting was going to be ending any time soon, he had to do whatever he could to hang on. Even if he wanted to put his arms down, he wasn’t sure that he could. The damn things felt locked in place. The muscles in his back were screaming in protest. He wasn’t even sure if he had legs anymore. His balls were burning and heavy, hanging between his legs like a 50-weight dumbbell, threatening to drag him down onto the floor. His cock felt like it was a couple seconds away from exploding. Hair hung in front of his face, further obscuring his vision. Somehow, it still felt so good and that was one of his biggest problems. He…he didn’t know how much longer he could do this. It was too much. It all was becoming entirely too much. He was exhausted – it felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. Sounds were rapidly becoming dulled. He was starving and desperately needed something to drink. This…it was the most bizarre combination of miserable and exhilarating. There was something inside him – something that was usually hidden deep within the depths of his unconsciousness – that was loving every single moment of this. 

But even that something was beginning to realize that he wouldn’t make it another hour. He was already about to fall flat on his face. Breathing heavily, no longer able to care how loud he was being, the realization that he was going to be seen like this by a huge group of people managed to drag itself sluggishly through the heavy haze clinging to every inch of his mind. There was the slightest spasm of fear and shame but he didn’t have the energy left to pay any attention to it. He was just desperately trying to keep himself upright. He couldn’t fail…not after he had come this far! Grinding his teeth together, tears scalding the corners of his eyes, he forced his breathing to even out. Stay strong, he weakly commanded himself. Stay strong! He…he could do this…he just had to hang on-! For a few moments, it did seem like he was making a come back then the muscles in his ass spasmed, causing the vibes to shift. One pressed directly against his prostate, sending a fresh bolt of electric pleasure radiating up his spine. This was it…cumming, he was going to cum! Or pass out! He couldn’t tell which! 

Biting down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood, Erik clenched his eyes tightly shut. Finish! Stop! Talking! Cumming-! He was gonna-! A loud clap filled the room. Shakily raising his head, Erik watched in a daze as T’Challa raised his hands, a smile spread across his face and said in a loud voice, “I do believe, my friends, that is enough for today. Thank you all for giving me your time. We shall meet again sometime in the coming weeks to discuss any updates.”

A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd as sleepy looking men and women got to their feet, gathered up their stuff and headed towards the door. They called out good-byes and plans to meet at some point. T’Challa walked around his desk to follow them out, laughing and chatting as he went. Panting raggedly, praying that T’Challa would not force him to stay like this all night, internally begging for some release, some relief, Erik strained his ears to follow the sound of T’Challa at the other end of the room. Time seemed to stretch out into eternity. Those damn fuckers wouldn’t stop talking! They continued – on and on about shit Erik couldn’t make out over the roaring of blood in his ears. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, T’Challa bid the last one good-night. There came the sound of the doors closing. Footsteps echoed through the now silent room, coming closer. Erik raised his head just as T’Challa came back into his field of vision. Knowing that he had to be making a pathetic expression, Erik tried his best to glare. Considering how exhausted he was, he doubted it was effective. Hands clasped behind his back, T’Challa walked over onto the front of the barrier. Something somewhere was pressed because the sheet of blue shut off. 

“I’m surprised.” T’Challa said quietly, “Do you know how long you’ve been in there?”

Erik didn’t answer. He only glared weakly up into those dark eyes. 

“Six hours. I truly hadn’t expected for you to last that long. I must say.” T’Challa offered the tiniest hint of a smile. Erik despised the way his heart thumped hard in response. A smile…he had actually gotten a smile out of the man – and not a derisive, mocking one either, “I am impressed.”

Striding forward, T’Challa knelt down in front of him. Leaning forward, he pushed his face into Erik’s, his smile growing when Erik inhaled sharply. Fuck…what was this bastard planning on doing? Reaching up to gently brush sweat soaked hair off of Erik’s forehead, T’Challa murmured, “You may put your arms down.”

Despite himself, Erik let out a shaky sigh of relief. It took a little coaxing and a lot of pained groaning but he finally managed to lower his arms down to his sides. The muscles in his arms, shoulder, back and chest felt like they were on fire. He was going to be sore for days because of this. Lowering his arms brought an unforeseen consequence – it was like holding his arms out had been helping him hold back the floodgates. The moment he was allowed to lower them, what remained of his self-control and restraint started to shut down. Rapidly sucking in breaths, knowing that if he came now, everything he had just endured would be for nothing, Erik gasped sharply, his back bowing, when T’Challa lightly thumbed his throbbing cock. The pleasure from having his prostate suddenly stimulated was nothing in comparison to what crashed through him at the sensation of T’Challa’s calloused thumb brushing over the head of his dick. Trailing his fingers down, the bastard took his sweet time getting the chastity cage off. Finally, it slipped off, letting his aching length free. 

“Such a good kit.” T’Challa breathed, sweetly nuzzling the curve of Erik’s scruffy cheek, “You didn’t cum once, did you?”

“N-…no.” Erik ground out, barely able to formulate the words. He was so fucking tired. All he wanted to do was get a little relief and some sleep. Why was T’Challa dragging this out even further?!

“No what?” 

“No…sir…” Fuck…why…why did it feel so right…so good to say that?

“Good. Now.” T’Challa leaned back, his dark eyes alight with hard heat. Straightening up, he pushed his fingers through Erik’s hair then curled them tightly, wrenching his head back so he was forced to look up at him. Crying out sharply, the pulse of pain radiating through his scalp sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to his twitching cock, Erik came stupidly close to begging for T’Challa to just do something, anything already. Grinning lazily, T’Challa gazed down at him for a moment, clearly enjoying the messy sight of him, then asked in a low, smooth purr, “Mouth or hand?”

“W-what?” Erik gasped out, unsure if he had heard T’Challa right. 

“Your reward. Do you want me to use my mouth or my hand?” Leaning down, close enough that the tips of their noses bumped together, T’Challa breathed, those dark eyes boring into him, “Tell me what you want, kit. I’ll do anything you wish. You’ve been so good, so perfectly good, kit – let me reward you.”

A hard shudder shook his body. His breath caught. If T’Challa hadn’t been holding him up, he would have collapsed onto the floor. Panting hard, barely able to focus anymore, Erik stared into those dark eyes, captivated by them, possessed by them, “M….mouth…”

The word had barely come out when T’Challa wrenched him up off the floor. His numb legs immediately gave out underneath his weight. The pain of having stayed in one position for so long became even more apparent as T’Challa effortlessly hefted him up, threw him over his shoulder and carried him over to his desk. A loud grunt erupted from his lips as he was unceremoniously dropped on top of it. There wasn’t any time to protest. Before he had time to get his bearings, hot breath brushed against the underside of his cock. A large, calloused hand wrapped around the base. Erik managed to lift his head just in time to watch T’Challa stretch his mouth open wide and swallow up his cock. Intense wet heat closed in all around him. He sunk all the way, taking in every inch of him. Throwing his head back, a loud howl ripping its way from his throat, Erik weakly bucked his hips a couple times before T’Challa’s other hand landed on the base of his stomach, pinning him to the desk. 

Curling his fingers around the edge, he held on for dear life as T’Challa sucked hard on him. Fuck-! Fuck, fuck, fuck-! It felt beyond amazing! He hadn’t been with anyone else who had made him feel this good! His cock…it was melting! Every inch of his body was singing in incredible pleasure. T’Challa seemed to instinctively know just where to put pressure, which places to tease, where he felt it most. This…it was almost terrifying. He didn’t know that this could feel this good. If this kept up…he was going to get addicted…he would do whatever this bastard told him to do just to feel this again! He could feel himself unraveling – those powerful hands, those dark eyes, that intoxicating scent…everything was undoing him but…he couldn’t bring himself to care. This…so good-! It felt so good-! More-! He wanted even more-! 

Sliding off his cock with a loud, wet plop, T’Challa murmured, “Are you still holding back? Why? This is your reward so,” that large, hot hand gave his cock a hard pump, pulling a strangled scream out of him, “cum.”

The world blurred white. Intense swallowed him up once more. Back arching up off the table, his hips straining to push his cock even deeper into T’Challa’s mouth, Erik finally came with a silent scream. It…it was devastating. Being kept at that precipice for so long, tortured by having his release dangling so tantalizing right in front of his face…then this…this fucking heat, the pressure, the suction bidding him, commanding him to cum and that voice…that husky, gorgeous voice piercing through the golden haze hanging over his mind, becoming so crystalline and vibrant that he could practically see the words – it created the perfect fucking storm for an orgasm that left him feeling boneless, mindless, like his soul had been ejected straight out of his body. Thick ropes of jizz poured out of his cock. T’Challa slid back until just the head was inside, sucking hard on the spongy mass as his hand coaxed out every last drop, swallowing it all down. His other hand slipped between Erik’s trembling thighs to gently massage his balls, sending out a fresh wave of pleasure. 

Panting heavily, Erik collapsed back down onto the desk. Exhaustion swamped him. His limbs felt like jelly. The last time he could remember being this tired was…no, nope, he actually couldn’t remember a time. This was an entirely new kind of exhausted to him. It was almost impossible to keep his eyes opened. If he were to try to get and walk right now, he would crumple to the floor. Erik struggled to fight through it. Without a doubt, T’Challa was going to tell him to leave, to get his own sorry ass home. Rolling over onto his side with considerable difficultly, Erik managed to get himself up onto one shaky elbow but that was it. He knew instinctively that if he tried to go any further, he was going to collapse. Hell, that was if he even managed to stay away, which was steadily becoming more and more difficult. T’Challa let his steadily softening cock slide free from his mouth. Erik braced himself for the inevitable demand for him to get off the desk and make himself scarce. 

“Now, now, where do you think you’re going?” T’Challa purred, his voice so soft and sweet, it made Erik tense up a little. “Come here, let’s get you cleaned up.”

If he had been a bit more awake, he would have demanded to know T’Challa’s game but with his brain starting to shut off, he said nothing and did nothing as he was gathered up into T’Challa’s arms. Lifting him up with that expected ease and grace, T’Challa carried him off…somewhere. It was really hard to get his eyes to focus. Cheek resting on the broad curve of T’Challa’s shoulder, so warm and comfortable in his arms that he had to use every last remnants of his strength not to doze off, Erik managed to catch a simple hallway, a couple doors, a staircase before they were in what was obviously T’Challa’s bedroom. Simple, filled to the brim with books, tech stuff, artifacts and other stuff that he couldn’t really discern with his eyes half-closed. Aware enough to be confused as to what T’Challa was doing, Erik watched silently as he was carried into a pretty impressive bathroom. Carried over to the large bathtub, T’Challa carefully lowered him down onto the cold stone then quickly went about getting it filled up with warm, soapy water. 

“What’re you-“ Erik finally managed to mumble as the water rose to his throat. 

“Giving you a bath.” Was T’Challa’s answer, given in a tone that said he clearly saw this as obvious. “You’re not getting into my bed all sweaty like that. It can’t be comfortable to be that sweaty either. Stay still. I’m not going to do anything.” 

“What…” Now he was even more confused. What the fuck was going on? 

There came no response. Leaning over, T’Challa gently smoothed a warm, soft washrag over Erik’s chest. With practiced ease, he rubbed him down, scrubbing away all the traces of sweat, leaving him feeling squeaky clean. It was…surprisingly pleasant, just sitting there in that warmth, T’Challa’s gentle hand roaming over his skin, more satisfied and content than he could ever remember being. He came close to dosing off a couple times. When T’Challa was seemingly satisfied with his cleanliness, he drained the water, got him out of the tub and wrapped him up in an almost comically large, fluffy towel. Far too comfortable to care by this point, Erik was delivered another surprise when T’Challa carried him back into the bedroom and went straight to the bed. After drying him off a bit, he tugged the light blankets back, tucked him in and wandered off, leaving him to sink deep into the soft, dreamy mattress. He was right on the verge of finally drifting off when the mattress shifting dragged him back up to wakefulness. Gentle fingers brushed through his hair. Warmth pressed in close. Blinking blearily, he looked up to find T’Challa lounging next to him. Reaching over to pick up a remote from the bedside table, he turned on the large TV mounted on the wall opposite of the bed and settled in. 

What…what was this? Some kind of joke? Had that orgasm scrambled his brain so much that he was hallucinating? The bizarreness of this sudden situation was enough to drag him up further into awareness – not enough for him to be able to get his numb butt out of there but enough for him to be a little shaken by how dramatically the atmosphere between them had changed. He had just been ordered to remain in the most uncomfortable position possible for six hours. Now, he was wrapped up in comfort, moments away from drifting off into a restful sleep while this bastard stroked his hair. Just…what was this? What did this bastard think he was doing?

Dark eyes flickered down to meet his tired gaze. Tilting his head slightly, T’Challa offered a small smile. Covering Erik’s eyes with his hand, he murmured, “You are safe, little kit. Come on now…sleep.”

He knew he was in trouble when those simple words drove away the last of the tension in his body. Relaxing completely, he drifted off with no further trouble. Before he was 100% gone into dreamland, the thought that he should have just got onto that plane and left drifted across his mind. Now…fuck, there was no just leaving. Not when he had gotten a taste of something this amazing. This…it wouldn’t end well. T’Challa’s sharp teeth were going to dig even deeper into his mind, ripping and tearing at the synapses until he could fill up every inch of then. When he was completely possessed by the man, he would be thrown away, tossed off onto the streets like a bag of trash. Doms didn’t care for anyone but themselves. They took and took and took, uncaring of the cracks and bruises they left along the way. Nothing would be different with this time around. T’Challa could play this gentle charade as much as he wanted, Erik knew what he was underneath this ploy: a cruel, sadistic bastard who would have his fun then kick him to the curb. 

All Doms were the same. Hoping for anything else just proved how much of an idiot he was. He already felt like a big enough idiot for getting swept away by all this but…at least, he could try to protect himself as best he could. A Dom like T’Challa…he was dangerous. 

-

T’Challa was gone by the time he woke up. Sitting on the bedside table were his clothing, freshly washed and pristinely folded. There was no note or anything so Erik got dressed and left, heading back to his hostel room…only to find that someone had checked him out and taken all of his stuff to the palace, forcing him to return. From there…it was a whirlwind that left him dizzy and unsure of just about everything. A servant showed him to his own room (directly down from the King’s, he was informed in a weirdly teasing voice, accompanied by a playful side eye). When he tracked T’Challa down, he was unsurprised to find him acting much friendlier. The first thing out of the bastard’s mouth when he stomped into his office was an apology. One of the guards suggested that Erik remain at the palace – it would make things much easier, he added with a solemn nod – and he acted without thought. Bowing once again, T’Challa apologized for not talking with him first. Following the apology was a promise to do his best to communicate better in the future. Erik dismissed the apology, uncomfortable with how…open T’Challa was being. 

“Now,” T’Challa had said, placing his large hands on his desk, those dark eyes – blazing with an intense heat that made his cock twitch, “how about we have some fun? Are you in the mood for a little challenge, kit?”

Erik quirked a brow, “Sure, do whatever you want.”

With permission given, T’Challa didn’t hold back. Dragging him back to his bedroom, he threw him down onto the bed, ripped his pants down and shoved a large dildo into his ass. Despite the discomfort of having something so big forced in like that, he was instantly hard. After giving his ass a hard smack, T’Challa ordered in a cold voice for him to do five laps around the palace. He couldn’t cum, he couldn’t take the dildo out and, once he started the laps, he couldn’t stop. Erik carefully stood, pulled his pants back up – trembling when his underwear pressing against the end of the dildo pushed it even deeper inside him – and did as he was told, walking the entire length of the palace five times. It took around an hour and a half – child’s play in comparison to what he’d endured the night before. He’d barely even worked up a sweat by the time he completed the laps and returned to T’Challa’s office. Confidently walking through the doors, rather proud of himself for being to stride in there with his expression still cocky and smug, Erik made it halfway to T’Challa’s desk, fully intending to plop his butt right on top of it to show that bastard that he’ll have to do a lot better than that. Only, T’Challa did something that caused the dildo to come to life, rapidly vibrating and spinning inside him. Gasping sharply, he came to a halt, bending over, his hands braced on his knees. The pleasure had been okay up to that point – nothing to write home about but who would have expected anything different? It was just an unimpressive dildo shoved into a dry ass – not exactly the most electric situation but the moment it started to move, the pleasure drastically increased, howling loudly throughout his body. 

“Did you cum?” T’Challa asked calmly, not looking up from his papers. 

“N-no…sir…” Erik ground out. If he had, did this fucker really think he’d bother coming all the way back here? Sure, he couldn’t take the dildos out but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find a sneaky way to remove all trace of cum from his underwear. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done it. 

“Show me.”

Tugging open his trousers, Erik shoved them down enough to show T’Challa there was nothing in his underwear except for a large wet spot from precum. If he had been told to keep all the precum in, he would have failed miserably. Nodding satisfactorily, T’Challa motioned him to come over. Walking with more difficultly now, his cock hanging out of his pants, Erik stopped in front of the desk. Lacing his fingers together, T’Challa rested his elbows on the desk, his dark gaze focused squarely on Erik’s flushed face. 

“Do you want to cum?” He asked quietly. 

“Wh…what do you t-think?” Erik spat weakly in return. No, he wanted to keep standing there, dying to get a little relief. 

“It’s a yes or no question, kit. Do you want to cum?”

Erik sucked in a deep breath through his nose. This motherfucker really was going to make him play 20 questions with his dick just hanging out like that, “Y-yes.”

T’Challa nodded, “Then masturbate.”

“…what?”

“Masturbate.” T’Challa said slowly, enunciating each word. “If you want to cum, then masturbate.”

Irritated at how disappointed he was that T’Challa wasn’t stepping in, Erik huffed out a hard breath but did as he was told, wrapping one hand around his throbbing length. He began to rapidly jerk himself off. Pleasure rippled out from his cock, spreading out in a pleasant wave through his body. He was a little worried that this would just be a repeat of that last time he tried to masturbate but…with those dark eyes on him, watching him intently as he pumped his length, it quickly became apparent that that wasn’t going to be the case. T’Challa sitting there silently, that intense gaze gobbling him up…it was making him feel so hot. Panting heavily, Erik reached down with his other hand to squeeze and tug on his balls. He came embarrassingly quick, a strangled moan rippling out of his throat. It wasn’t a conscious thought but as jizz began to pour out of his cock, he slid his hand up to the head, catching all of the mess in his palm. T’Challa’s expression didn’t change. Reaching out, he curled his fingers around Erik’s wrist, leading his cum drenched hand to his lips. Holding his gaze, he slowly, thoroughly licked the jizz from his skin. Mouth hanging open slightly, Erik watched him, dumbfounded. 

“Delicious. Now, that’s a good kit.” T’Challa murmured against his palm. Releasing his hand, he turned back to his work, switching gears so abruptly, it left Erik feeling the whiplash, “Now, take that thing out of your ass and leave. I don’t care what you do, just be back here by eight.”

“Yes….yes sir.” Erik replied numbly, turning to back to his room. 

It was from that moment that their bizarre relationship began. Every day was spent with challenges being posed to him. Sometimes, they were simple physical challenges – maintain this pose for this amount of time, hit X number of targets, defeat so many number of opponents in a training fight and so on. Seemingly random stuff that usually came out of nowhere. He was given no warning, only T’Challa giving him simple, straightforward instructions; always with that promise of a reward and instructions on how to stop (usually always a simple to remember word that would bring everything to an abrupt halt) hanging over everything they did. For the most part, he did enjoy those challenges. The majority of them were easy but the reward wasn’t nearly as satisfying. A couple times, it was only a praise that left him pouting like a child who hadn’t gotten what they’d wanted. Still, he kept doing them because T’Challa told him too. Over time, the challenges did increase in difficulty. A couple of time even managed to give him a run for his money. His favorites were just T’Challa ordering him down to the training room for a sparring match between them. While that did always leave him hungering for that perfect body, he loved the actual challenge, the chance to learn more about how this enigma fought, to keep trying at taking him down. 

But physical challenges weren’t the only thing that T’Challa came at him with. Far more prevalent was the type of thing he endured that night in the study and the long walk around the palace the next day. It never ceased to amaze him just how sadistic this bastard could be. Right from the get-go, they were going full tilt. A couple nights after their first encounter, T’Challa invited him to a formal dinner with some of the most powerful people in the country. Only, it wasn’t just dinner. Before they walked into the long dining hall together, T’Challa pulled him into a bathroom, yanked his pants down and got Erik all set up with the toys for the night. A sounding rod pushed deep into his half-erect cock and held in place by a condom; three bullet vibes taped to the base of his cock, and an uncomfortably large dildo in his ass. As if that wasn’t enough, T’Challa produced a couple of nipple clamps. Erik had to bite down on his hand to keep himself from moaning as T’Challa crushed his nipples between two cold prongs of metal. He was given the usual instructions: don’t cum and don’t let anyone know. 

That night…it had been torture in the best possible way. Walking through the throngs of people, seeing people glance at his brightly flushed face, trembling from the immense pleasure rolling through him, Erik didn’t dare tuck himself into a corner. Instead, he kept himself forward and present, often wandering from T’Challa’s side to do his own thing. It…it was bizarre, just how aroused he got, walking among those elegantly dressed assholes, knowing that – at any moment – one of them might see the outline of the clamps through his shirt or discern the bulge just barely making itself known through his baggy pants. It was exhilarating. By the end of the night, when T’Challa led him back to his bedroom, he was ready to throw himself onto the bed and spread his legs open wide so T’Challa could fuck him stupid…but, while he did get an amazing reward (T’Challa fucking his urethra and his asshole with the sounding rod and dildo), T’Challa’s cock came nowhere near his ass, much less actually leaving his pants. Erik could see how turned on he was – he was creating quite the tent from underneath his dress trousers but he made no attempt to take it. 

At that point, it hadn’t really bothered him. So what, this fucker didn’t want to fuck him, why should he care? He felt good – that was all that mattered to him. Then, a couple days later, T’Challa called for him. There was no walking through a crowded room with a dildo going crazy inside his ass. Instead, he was ordered to plop himself down underneath T’Challa’s desk. A harsh throb of excitement sent out a flash of dizziness when one of those large hands expertly tugged open the front of his pants, letting a gorgeous cock come bouncing out. Erik’s mouth immediately began to water. He was rock hard at first sight. He was huge! The girth, the length, everything was perfect! He could envision himself sucking on that cock for hours! Course, he didn’t let any of that show on his face. T’Challa pushed a thumb into his mouth, sliding it open. Letting out a shaky breath. Erik took that perfect length between his lips. A delectable salty taste spread over his tongue. Eyes fluttering closed, he slipped all the way down without needing a prompt to do so. The bastard was so damn big! His jaw was being stretched to its limit. The head slipped past the back of his mouth to push down into his throat. It was hard to breathe. His body was burning up. He…he loved it. It felt amazing to have his mouth stuffed so incredibly full! Bracing his hands on the floor, Erik tried to slide back so he could start the main motion of a blowjob but, to his surprise, one of T’Challa’s large hands rested on the top of his head. Strong fingers curled into his hair, holding him in place. 

“Do not move.” T’Challa ordered calmly. He removed his hand, returning to whatever it was he was working on without another word. 

Ah…cock-warming? That’s what this was, right? He’d heard people talk about it but never actually done it himself. Before, if someone had proposed the idea to him, he would have turned him down flat. There wasn’t a Dom in existence who could make him just sit there for hours with a cock in his mouth…until now, apparently. Okay, not exactly how he was expecting this little encounter to go but, really, by this point, he should stop expecting anything. The beast currently stuffing his mouth completely full with his enormous cock (which, he realized with a pang of annoyance, was only half-hard) was an enigma in every sense of the word. 

Shifting just a little to get more comfortable, irritably batting away T’Challa’s hand when it rested on the top of his head again (come on, it should be obvious that he wasn’t moving in the way he told him not too), Erik settled in for what was definitely going to be a long haul. Resting his chest against T’Challa’s knees, his hands draped over his thighs, he let his thoughts drift. Weirdly enough, there was something pleasant about just sitting there, T’Challa’s taste dominating his mouth, surrounded by his powerful, delectable scent. It was uncomfortable – his jaw was already beginning to ache and the difficulty breath was making him feel a little dizzy – but that discomfort only added further to the enjoyment factor. 

Quickly slipping into a state that he could usually only achieve by intense mediation, Erik distantly heard people coming and going as T’Challa went about his daily business. He was tucked safely underneath the desk, hidden away from sight but if someone were to come over to T’Challa’s side, they’d get an eyeful of just what the King of Wakanda was doing. Every time someone came into the room, Erik tensed up a little, his heart jumping with excitement. A part of him wanted to be seen – mostly because he wanted to see how the collected T’Challa would react. Though, he doubted it would be a satisfactory reaction. Bastard would probably just brush it off. 

He came close to dozing off a few times. Halfway through what would end up being a four hour thing, T’Challa’s hand rested on the top of his head, not to prompt him to move but to gently stroke his hair, the side of his face, his shoulders. The trace of his fingertips gliding over his skin sent shivers racing down his back. A big part of him wanted to smack that hand away. Each touch was distracting him, making it hard to slip back into that half-conscious state of mind that was making just sitting there a little easier. Still, he did have to admit that it felt good – he just didn’t understand why T’Challa was doing it. Was it to annoy him? To mock him? He was doing as he was ordered to! What more did this fucker want from him? T’Challa lightly thumb his earlobe, earning himself a more pronounced shudder. Fuck! He was ticklish there! 

“Are your ears your erogenous zone?” T’Challa asked, his low, deep voice laced with amusement. He rubbed Erik’s earlobe again. Erik had to curled his fingers into T’Challa’s pant to keep himself from knocking his hand away. Chuckling, T’Challa relented, giving his head a fond pat before moving it away. Erik tilted his head back just enough to shot him an annoyed glare. It got the reaction he expected – another soft chuckle. Blowing out a hard breath through his nose, he struggled to keep back to that meditative state with the sensation of T’Challa’s fingers still causing his skin to tingle. It was difficult with his jaw and back aching, his tongue dry and heavy at the bottom of his mouth, and the pangs of hunger starting to get irritating – not to mention, the buzzing pleasure that fizzled out from the base of his belly. When had he become so hard? He’d been so distracted by the cock in his mouth, he’d completely forgotten about his own length. It stood nearly straight up in his pants, thrumming and humming excitedly, squealing to be touched. Another huff – great, another distraction. 

Before he had time to get too annoyed, T’Challa let out a long, soft sigh. He stretched, did a couple of shoulder rotations then, without a word, reached down to clamp hard onto the sides of Erik’s head, holding him firmly in place as he started to roughly pump his hips. Caught off guard, Erik gagged a little when that large head suddenly slammed down further into his throat. Within a couple of thrusts, T’Challa’s cock was fully hard and much bigger. It forced his jaw to stretch to nearly its breaking point. Tears sprang up to the corners of his eyes. His face was on fire. Clinging to his hips, Erik rocked slightly to meet T’Challa’s movements. He sucked hard on the thick rod of meat, playfully tonguing the prominent veins. Breathing was almost impossible. His head swam with a mixture of dizziness and pleasure. Pleasure sizzled through his veins. Harder-! Harder, harder, harder-! Fuck his mouth even harder! It wanted to suffocate on this Dom’s cock! He wanted to drown in his semen! More…more, more, more-! He wanted to be treated even more roughly! 

“Fuck-!” T’Challa ground out in a voice that was gloriously heavy with lust. 

If he had been some kind of cartoon character, that was when hearts would have appeared in his eyes. He relaxed his throat, more than ready to swallow down everything T’Challa gave him but, to his immense disappointment, just as that cock was beginning to swell up, he yanked it out. Pushing his chair back, he grabbed Erik’s hair with one hand, roughly wrenching his head back, and wrapped his other hand around his length, gave it one pump and came. Hot threads of white splattered all over his face. Whining low in his throat, Erik briefly considered sneaking his tongue out to get a taste but quickly decided against it. No telling what T’Challa might do if he did. Plus…he was too scared to find out what tasting it might do to him. Instead, he sat there quietly, watching with heavy lidded eyes as T’Challa squeezed out the last drop of his orgasm. He was painfully hard. His hands itched to give himself a little relief. 

Sighing heavily, T’Challa released his steadily softening cock. Pushing the chair back even further, he tugged Erik out from under the desk. With a dismissive hand wave, he said, “Leave. Be in my quarters by five tonight. Do not be late.”

Burning with needy heat, Erik asked mockingly, “And if I am? What if I’m thirty seconds late?”

Dark eyes swung up to hold him hostage by a cold, stern glare, “Try it if you wish to find out.”

That was enough to make him silently obey. By five that night, he was already in T’Challa’s bedroom, standing impatiently by one of the numerous windows. At the fifth chime of some clock somewhere, T’Challa came striding in with an impatient look on his handsome face. No words were exchanged, though Erik tried to offer some kind of snarky remark. It was lost the moment T’Challa grabbed hold of his arm in a vice grip, dragged him over to the bed and threw him face down onto it. He experienced the briefest moment of giddy hope that this bastard might actually fuck him but it seemed T’Challa wasn’t going to hand something like that over so easily. Instead, his arms were bound tightly behind his back, a blindfold was slapped over his eyes and T’Challa yanked his shirt up enough to reveal his pecs. Powerful hands dragged him up from the bed and rolled him over so that his back met a muscular chest. He was completely lost for a few moments, caught between excitement and trepidation then two small buzzing things were pressed firmly to his nipples, sending a cascading wave of tingling pleasure rolling through him. 

Warm breath brushed against his ear, “You’ve got an hour to cum just from this. Can you do it, little kit?”

Long story short, yes, he could – with humiliating ease. They’d barely made it twenty minutes before he was cumming in his underwear. If pressed, he didn’t know if it was his nipples being stimulated that made him cum or T’Challa continuously cooing in his ear, commanding him, ordering him to do as he was told…praising him for making such sweet noises, for getting so close to cumming. One time didn’t seem to satisfy T’Challa, who kept the vibes going. This time, he must’ve taped them down or did something to keep them in place because the vibes stayed even after his hands slipped to his pants to fondle his cock through his soggy underwear. He came three more times before T’Challa decided it was time to remove his pants. Even then, they still weren’t done. He spent the rest of the night braced against T’Challa’s chest, his chest and cock played with until he was cumming water. By the time that the blindfold was finally removed, bright morning sunlight was filtering in through the windows. Just like the first night, he was exhausted, barely able to hold his head up as T’Challa carried him into the bathroom. Another warm bath, followed by collapsing into bed with the strange King, who squeezed him close, one large hand gently stroking his back, sweet whispers of praise following him into his dreams. 

It was at that point that their bizarre ‘relationship’ began. T’Challa would have a challenge for him; Erik would do as he was told and would get a reward of some kind. As days turned into weeks, weeks into months, Erik was given a deeper look into just how sadistic the bastard was. Some of the tasks T’Challa gave to him were nearly impossible but the true cruelty that man was capable of became apparent not just through the challenges but what happened when he, inevitably, failed. First time – he couldn’t even remember what T’Challa had him doing, that was how bad the punishment was – Erik was strapped down onto a metal table in a sterile looking room and fucked by a devilish machine for what he thought to be around five hours. As always, there was a way out. Right by one of his hands was a button. T’Challa sternly advised that the moment he couldn’t take it any longer, he was to push it. Erik thought about it a couple times but…it felt so good, he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. Plus…there was no way he was going to cave. He’d endured a whole day if he had too. 

The whole time, a circular clamp around the base of his dick kept him from cumming. By the end, a tiny part of him wished that he had thrown in the towel but a significantly larger part of him was humming with elation. He had done it, he had beaten T’Challa at his own game. Now, he was able tp reap the sweet rewards. Soaked in sweat, tears and spit, he silently bent to lick T’Challa’s boot when the bastard finally returned to free him from that torture. Thankfully, that little sign of obedience got him the right to finally cumming. Later when T’Challa asked him if he had enjoyed himself, sternly reminding him that he could always tell when he was lying, Erik had no choice but to sullenly admit that yes, he had fucking loved every single second of it. 

Sadly, that was not a go too punishment. Usually, T’Challa left him desperately wanting, his body burning up from the inside out, screaming for those big hands, that smooth voice, that familiar heat. It was effective, at least. He found himself working ridiculously hard to keep T’Challa pleased. All of his hard work was always rewarded with hours that left him trembling and gasping, his body humming with intense pleasure. T’Challa never fucked him or came inside on the few occasions that Erik was allowed to suck his cock, leading to a frustration he never thought he’d experience: no dicking down frustration. He never brought it up since he didn’t want to seem like he wanted it (even though he did, he really, really did) but it was a gnawing want that kept at his pride, slowly breaking him down until the question was always right on the tip of his tongue. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t having a certain degree of fun, though that fun was always punctuated by continuous confusion and frustration. 

For someone so sadistic and cruel, T’Challa always came at him afterwards with a sweetness that made him melt. He had been with a few Doms in the past – some of whom had taken part in aftercare but most of them didn’t – but, just like always, T’Challa stood heads and shoulders above the others. His aftercare…it was disarming. Going from being tied up, his body played with as though he was nothing more than a toy, cumming until he’d screamed himself hoarse…then wrapped up in a warm embrace, cradled to a comfortingly muscular chest as that smooth voice whispered comfortingly into his ear, praising him, lulling him into a peaceful sleep…it was the worst kind of whiplash…and he enjoyed every single moment of it. Within the first couple of times, he started to actively crave it. He wanted to please T’Challa so he could get that praise, that comfort – on top of the pleasure, of course. It was a desire that made him nervous. 

A few months into this bizarre turn his life was taking, the question of why rolled across his mind. Lazily splayed out on one of the couches in T’Challa’s office, staring silently up at the ceiling, waiting to see what the bastard was going to have him do tonight, Erik carefully analyzed the question. Why? Well, it did feel insanely good, and it was fun, to some degree but really, if he were to answer that with total honesty, he would be forced to admit…Erik’s gaze slid over to T’Challa, sitting behind his desk, a quiet aura that pressed down on him, even from a distance. Erik watched him for a few short moments then clapped a hand over his face, scrubbing vigorously. Was he really going to admit this to himself? The thought had been lingering at the back of his mind for a long while now, lingering there, demanding attention, demanding that he recognize just what was going on. That was asking a lot of him. What exactly did he plan on doing after he admitted it? Trick question, he didn’t have any plans. All of this had turned his life on its head, leaving him scrambling to pick up the pieces as T’Challa dragged him along. 

“What’s wrong?” T’Challa suddenly asked, his low voice pulling Erik out of his thoughts. 

“Wondering why, after all I’ve done, you still haven’t fucked me. What, my asshole not good enough for you?” Erik replied before he had time to register what it was he was saying. The moment the last word was out of his mouth, he grimaced. Fuck, now he was in for it. Probably going to get a lecture or something about how he didn’t decide how these things went, blah blah blah. It would happen as T’Challa decides it happens, blah. Well, it would be great if he would go ahead and decide it would happen. 

To his surprise, T’Challa laughed. Not a pleasant, amused laugh but a cold, harsh one that immediately had Erik on edge. Raising his hand to look over at him, Erik got the full force of an amused, sneering smile. It was the first time he had ever seen T’Challa make a face like that. It made his heart drop down into his stomach like a rock. Fuck…oh fuck, he had messed up. He didn’t know why he had messed up so bad and, honestly, he wasn’t too eager to find out. Lacing his fingers together in front of him, T’Challa derisively said, “If I wanted to fuck a toy, I’d get myself a fleshlight. If you’re hoping that I’d fuck you, I’d advise you to rethink your expectations immediately.”

Blinking slowly, Erik stared at him for a beat then jumped to his feet. Shoving his hands into his pockets, a smile spread across his face, he sauntered over to T’Challa’s desk. His heart was thumping painfully. There was an uncomfortable tightness in the pit of his belly. Cold pulsed out from the center of his chest. He felt sick – his stomach was doing cartwheels. Fuck, why did he have to open his big mouth? Why did he have to ask something so stupid? He knew this was going to be the answer! Stopping at the other side, he leaned down, wanting nothing more than to smack that sneering grin off T’Challa’s face and said in an impressively even voice, “You really think you’re hot shit, huh? Lemme clue you in on something: you are a walking, talking dildo. An impressive one, I will admit but one that can be easily replaced. See, there’s no point, no purpose in a dildo if it isn’t being used correctly. Right now, you’re a shiny piece of decoration. Since you won’t give me what I want, then I guess I’ll go find someone who will.”

It happened so fast that, a couple moments later, he wasn’t sure if it had happened or if he had just wanted it to happen so badly that he imagined it. A ripple of dark rage raced across T’Challa’s face. All the amusement, the mocking laughter was gone, swallowed up by a thunderous expression. The room seemed to fill up with that intimidating aura. Erik instinctively jerked back, flinching as though he’d been burned. By the time he recovered, the look was long gone, replaced by one of cold indifference. Turning back to his work, T’Challa said calmly, “Do whatever you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Resisting the urge to deliver an immature school yard retort, Erik got the hell out of dodge. Red burned around the corners of his vision. Halfway down the staircase leading away from T’Challa’s study, he had to race back up to forcefully throw himself into the bathroom. He just barely made it to the sink before blowing chunks everywhere. His light breakfast swirled down the drain, mocking him for his own stupidity. Once he was out of the palace, he slipped into the nearest dark alley, secluded from the coming and goings of the people out on the road. Kicking the wall with enough strength to make his toes squeal in pain, he exclaimed harshly, “Fuck!”

Stupid! Idiot! The biggest freaking dumbass in the entire fucking world! What the fuck was he even doing?! Breathing heavily, Erik pressed his forehead to the rough, cold stone of nearest building. T’Challa was never going to see him as anything more than a plaything. All of this…it was just like any other Dom…playing with him as long as he was entertained then, when he finally got bored, he’d be tossed away like week old garbage. He knew that was going to happen before all of this bullshit even started. Why…why did he let himself start to think anything different? Why…why did he allow himself to become obsessed with that man?! And now…he had wasted so much goddamn time. Erik roughly shoved off the wall. All of his plans to make allies, to get dirt on T’Challa, to raise up and get even stronger…all of it had been lost in the pleasure of submitting to that man! What allies did he have now? What info did he have now? None! The answer was fucking none! All that time…he could have been making a name for himself here in Wakanda, he could have been doing so much more but no…he had been played with by a fucker who viewed him as less than a fleshlight. 

He took a moment to compose himself before striding purposefully back out into the bright sunlight. Fine…no, it’s fucking fine. If that was how T’Challa wanted to play, then he was going to end it right here. He was no one’s fucking plaything! He…he wouldn’t be jerked around like this again. He wouldn’t let another Dom fuck him over! He knew just the way to break him out of this obsession. Just had to remind himself that he didn’t need him. That everything he got from him; he could get from someone else easily. 

Weaving through the streets, keeping his eyes peeled for the obvious signs of just the kind of place he was looking for, Erik tracked one down after a couple hours of searching. Unsurprisingly, he found it at the outskirts of the golden city, tucked underneath what looked to be a café. Stepping through the door, he felt, rather than saw, dozens of eyes swing towards him. He barely took note of his surroundings. One sweep of the room pinpointed a couple of different candidates, but one stood out prominently: a somewhat handsome guy at the back of the room. He was a big fella, wearing what looked like a guard’s uniform. A helmet sat on the table beside a half-finished drink. There was a confidence, an arrogance about him that drew Erik in. Most importantly, he wasn’t looking at him when he walked in. Walking over, becoming more certain when the guy continued to ignore him, he plopped down at the same table, ordered himself a beer and waited. It took a little while, but the guy finally looked up, gave him a once over, took a chug from his drink and said, “You know what you’re getting yourself into, dandelion?”

Cute. That was really the best he could do? Was he trying to appear tough or something? If so, dandelion might not be the best name to christen people with. The guy’s voice wasn’t nearly as smooth or pleasant to listen to as T’Challa’s. At least he got what Erik wanted right away. No need to get by dancing around the bush or having to state it outright. Now that he was closer, he could see that his fingernails were filthy but his teeth were clean and white. There was a large scar stretched across his forehead. That air of arrogance seemed to fade a bit now that he was close enough to see every speck of dirt on his uniform. He was no longer that convinced that this dude was the right fit. Oh well, if he didn’t work, he could always find someone else. Plenty of other guys in the bar were looking at him. Some even looked envious that he had made a beeline for this asshole so quickly. 

Leaning back in his chair, Erik offered a snarky smile, “We’ll see, I guess. Can we cut the chitchat and get on with this?”

To his disappointment, the fucker immediately rose to the bait. Despite his eagerness to get this going, he had been hoping for a little bit more playful banter. Well, probably for the best, considering how unoriginal and pathetic this fucker had already proved himself to be. Chugging down the last of his drink, he slammed it down onto the table with unnecessary force. Offering a snarling grin, he got to his feet, grabbed Erik by the elbow and dragged him out of the bar. Erik kept track of where they were going out of habit. Deeper into the city, closer to where the palace was. The guy lead him up a brightly lit street to a fairly nice apartment complex. Up a couple flights of stairs to a room on the third floor. Along the way, the asshole would not shut up. He talked incessantly about random shit that Erik couldn’t care less about. It took all of his self-control not to tell him to fucking shut it. He wasn’t there to learn about this fucker’s life story. He wanted to be fucked into a bed to get rid of the hollowness in his gut so he could leave this fucking nightmare behind before T’Challa dragged him down even deeper into this obsession. They finally came to a stop in front of apartment #15. Fella pushed it open with his shoulder and stepped aside to let Erik in. It was surprisingly clean – a step up. 

Before the door was even closed, Erik found himself pinned to a nearby wall. Chapped lips found his in a rough kiss. A tongue tasting of bitter beer and acid shoved its way into his mouth. His stomach lurched unpleasantly. The fucker kissed him with such unnecessary intensity, his lips immediately began to burn. It was painful, unpleasant, gross. Reminded him of the first asshole he’d ever kissed, who decided it’d be a good idea to try to shove his hand down his pants before they’d even gotten to tongue stuff yet. Erik jerked away, struggling not to gag on the revolting taste. Shoving one hand against the fucker’s chest, he sneered, “I didn’t come here for that. Either get your pants off now and fuck me or I’m leaving.”

“Alright, dandelion. Alright!” The asshole laughed, holding his hands up. “Right this way, princess.”

This was a bad idea…he could tell already but…it didn’t really matter how the guy acted, the result was going to be the same. His body only wanted one man. The thought sent a wave of anxiety rolling through him. He was just going to have to endure this to train his body away from that. Following the fucker into a rather small bedroom, Erik made no complaint when he was unceremoniously shoved down onto the bed. Thankfully, bastard seemed to have gotten the point. Grinning broadly, his eyes alight with feverish lust, he ripped down Erik’s pants, tearing some of the fabric in the process. Reaching over, he retrieved a large, half-used bottle of lube from the bedside table, along with a couple of condoms. Rolling over onto his stomach, doing his best to ignore the warning pangs of nausea pulsing out from his stomach and the pronounced feeling of wrongness clinging to him, Erik bit down hard on his bottom lip when the fucker hand’s spread him open. Gross…fuck, it felt so fucking gross! His skin was dry and rough. There was no precision, no thought behind his movements. He was like a heat crazed dog, just looking for a hole to shove his dick into.

“What a pretty hole.” Fucker cooed, leaning down to drag his dehydrated ass tongue across Erik’s hole. He grimaced, a disgusted shiver shaking his body. Felt like a goddamn piece of sandpaper. Curling his fingers into the thin blanket, he commanded himself to bear it. This was the only way to get T’Challa’s poison out of him. Just endure, he just had to endure! There came the sound of the lube bottle being popped open. Erik could have bolted right then. Forcing the pace of his breathing to calm down, knowing from the way that the jerk was cooing and crooning, he must think this was excitement, Erik couldn’t hold back a whine when those lubed drenched fingers shoved their way into his ass. Did this fucker have no tact?! Couldn’t he add a little bit of finesse to this? Well, he was the one to tell him just to get to it but goddamn, he wasn’t a fucking blowup doll! 

“So tight!” The bastard hissed, “Loosen up some. You wanna chop my dick off?”

It was an option on the table. Considering that he was already right on the verge of taking this fucker’s head off, his cock didn’t seem to dramatic of a second option. Grinding his teeth together, demanding his body to play along, to cease this foolish insistence on only being touched by one man (he didn’t want him! He was just a toy! Why…why was he so hung up on this?! Doms had treated him like this before and he hadn’t hardly blinked an eye so why? Why was T’Challa’s cruel laughter, his mocking words, calling him just a toy affecting him so badly?), Erik spread his legs up a little wider, snarling, “Stop chatting and get on with it! I want your cock inside me of me now!”

“So impatient.” Fucker laughed but it got the job done. Jerking his fingers out of Erik’s somewhat prepped hole, he pressed something bigger, hotter, harder to his entrance. A miserable shudder raced up his spine. His hole tensed up, already starting to reject this fucker’s unwelcome intrusion. Even with his repeated commands for it to relax, to let him in, when the bastard slammed his hips forward, driving the entirety of his underwhelming length inside, his ass sent out a shockwave of itching pain. It…it was miserable. Bastard grabbed hold of his hips, clamping down with bruising strength. Without waiting for him to accommodate to the sudden intrusion, fucker immediately got to fucking him, setting a hard, rough pace from the get-go. Normally, that would be something he’d enjoyed but right then, all he wanted to do was kick the fucker off him. He…he hated it. It felt awful! His stomach was rolling in protest, threatening to hurl up its contents. His skin was uncomfortably tight. With every thrust, that tightness, that emptiness inside him grew and grew until he could barely take it anymore. 

“Ah yeah, babe, you feel so good! Does it feel good, huh? Feel good, you cock hungry slut?”

“Shut up…” Erik growled. The urge to crush this fucker’s head between his thighs overwhelmed him. God, could he just shut the fuck up?! Having to hear him on top of having that dirty dick inside of him was horrible! Out…out, out, he wanted him to take his disgusting dick out! Burying his face into the pillow, he chanted repeatedly to endure, just endure – it was going to take a few times before he was able to return to how he was. Endure, he just had to endure, he just had too-! 

The door to fucker’s apartment flew open with such vicious strength, it bounced hard enough off the wall to make the whole place shake. Both Erik and the asshole turned around just in time to watch T’Challa, wearing the same thunderous expression he had thought he’d seen on his face earlier, storm into the apartment. Fucker immediately scrambled backwards, his hateful dick sliding free from Erik’s burning, itching ass. Babbling incoherently, he stupidly gawked at T’Challa, who barely seemed to notice his presence. All of his attention was focused squarely on Erik. Rolling over onto his back, mouth hanging open, his heart hammering hard against the interior of his ribs, Erik managed to get out, “Wha-“ before T’Challa lashed down to grab hold of his ankle in a painfully tight grip. Wrenching him down the bed, those dark, cold eyes holding him still without any need for physical restraints, T’Challa glared at him silently for a moment before saying in a deceptively calm voice. 

“What exactly do you think you are doing, kit?”

It took him a moment to find his voice. Shrinking back against the bed, his head swimming, wanting to scream at this bastard for him to stop confusing him (what was he doing here?! What the fuck did he care if he got himself some dick somewhere else?! It wasn’t like he cared; it wasn’t like he was going to fuck him so why?! Why did he chase him like this?! Why did he insist on messing with him?!), Erik replied in an uneven tone, “What I said I was going to do. I told you right to your face. What, did you have a stroke or something between now and then?”

T’Challa slowly nodded then said, his voice becoming hard, “Is that so? Well, I suppose I should have expected this out of an idiot kit.”

“What the fuck are you-!” Erik exploded, only for his rampage to be silenced when T’Challa grabbed a handful of his hair. Slammed face down onto the bed, a violent thrum of heat screeched out from the base of his belly. A large, powerful hand clamped down onto his hip. All the breath in his lungs whooshed out of his mouth in one loud wheeze. He heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being dragged down, followed by clothes rustling. In this position, he couldn’t see anything beyond the dirty white of the blanket but he didn’t need to see to know what that hard, hot thing pressing to his twitching hole was. A tremor of terror managed to wriggle its way through the instant blast of pleasure and excitement. T’Challa…what…what was he doing?! Was he…no, he said he wouldn’t! He said only a few hours ago that he wouldn’t touch him like this! This had to be more mocking. Good, good, he needed it to be mocking. He needed this to be just another reminder of how desperately he needed to get away from this man. If he fucked him right now…there would be no mistake for him. He was already addicted, beyond obsessed! His body was begging for this! His hole wanted T’Challa’s cock! He wanted to be dominated by him! 

“You think you can do whatever you please.” T’Challa cold, harsh voice said from somewhere overtop him. He ground the head of his dick against Erik’s twitching hole, pulling a strangled moan out of him. Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck! He wasn’t even inside yet but it already felt amazing! Just the sensation of that smooth skin pressed to him was divine! Erik had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep himself from begging. “Do you truly not understand, kit? You do as I say. If I say kneel, you kneel. If I say bark, you bark. If I say keep these whore legs shut, you keep them shut! Do you understand?”

“Y-yes…sir…” Erik gasped out, trembling underneath T’Challa’s weight. There it was again – the certainty that there had to be bright pink hearts pulsing in his eyes. What…what was this?! What was this dramatic shift of attitude? He…he wanted to see even more of it! 

“I don’t think you do.” T’Challa said coldly, his voice eerily calm, “But I will make you. I will make you understand that your life, your body is no longer your own. You handed it all over the day you stepped into Wakanda. Everything – every bead of sweat, every tear, every drip of your blood, every inch of your fucking skin! All of it! It belongs solely to me.”

With those words ringing out inside his head, quickly growing in volume until each syllable was an explosion, Erik knew. He was done for. There was no getting away now. Curling his hands even tighter, T’Challa slammed his hips forward. His thick, fat, long cock slid in easily. Erik’s hole hungrily gobbled him up, eagerly allowing him in deep. White flashed across his vision. The world drained away until there was nothing but that heavy body on top of him, that gorgeous cock buried inside him. An immense shudder wracked his body. Eyes rolling back in his head, his mouth hanging open, Erik came, spraying buckets of jizz all over the untidy blankets. This…oh holy fuck, this…it was heaven. The sensation of that huge cock thrusting into him, messing him up, stirring him up, spreading him open, forcing him to accommodate that immense girth…it was almost too much for him to take. Good…good, good, fuck, it felt so fucking good! T’Challa’s cock…it felt so good inside him. His ass was melting, his cock was humming with delirious ecstasy, every inch of him tingled. More…more, more, more-! He wanted so much fucking more! 

Moaning loudly, he used what leverage he had to slam his hips back against T’Challa, driving his cock in even deeper. He…he didn’t know anal could feel this amazing. Whenever he had done it before, it had always been a little painful, a little uncomfortable but there was none of that now. He was drowning in pleasure. The pressure of T’Challa’s cock gliding along his spasming insides, his heat bleeding into him, spreading up from his butt to his belly and further and further until his entire body was wrapped up in that warmth. Cumming…cumming, cumming-! He was gonna-! Crying out sharply, Erik came a second time. Drool rolled down his chin. Heat burned in his cheeks. T’Challa continued to fuck him through his second orgasm, driving the pleasure up higher and higher until he felt as though he might crack from the weight of it. A loud gasp rippled out of his mouth when T’Challa abruptly flipped him over. Sliding his hands underneath his knees, T’Challa shoved his legs up to his chest, giving Erik his first look at T’Challa’s face. 

Really…he should stop expecting anything. All that he got out of expecting anything was a huge shock. There was no coldness, no distance, no aloofness. Those dark eyes blazed with rampant heat and lust. His mouth was twisted into an enraged snarl. Loud, ragged pants poured from between his lips. The sight of him so riled up ramped the pleasure roaring inside him even further. Clinging onto his shoulders, rolling his hips to match his speed, his movement, Erik moaned wetly when T’Challa lunged down to dig his teeth into the side of his neck. A squeak of pain drifted up from where those sharp incisors were trying to rip him open. Moving his head to the side to give him better access, Erik didn’t bother trying to hold back a disappointed whine when T’Challa moved away, giving the bite a hard lick before hovering directly over him. Hot breath brushed against his skin. Those dark eyes burned into him, leaving him feeling shaky and dizzy in the best way possible. 

Fuck…cumming, he was going to cum again! He was going to cum while T’Challa stared him right in the face! Hips straining up off the bed, his head pressing back into the pillow, Erik came for a third time. A powerful hand clamped onto his jaw, wrenching his head back into place so that T’Challa could watch every twitch, every jerk of his expression as jizz splattered all over his stomach and chest. Even after cumming three times, he was still painfully hard and wanted even more. Suddenly, T’Challa came to an abrupt halt. Panting hard, his vision swimming, he watched in a daze as T’Challa glanced over to the side of the room. Erik followed his gaze. Cowering in the corner, watching them with his mouth still hanging open, one hand shoved down his pants, the fucker froze as well, his eyes widening in panic at being caught. Blowing out a hard breath, T’Challa straightened up, an annoyed expression on his handsome face. Ignoring Erik’s whine of disappointment, he slipped out of his spasming hole and jumped off the bed with his usual grace. From there, everything was a blur. T’Challa wrapped him up in the dirtied blanket, gathered him up into his arms and strode out the door without a single glance out. 

There was a car waiting outside. T’Challa deposited him in the backseat before jumping into the driver’s side. The ride back to the palace probably broke a plethora of traffic laws but they did make it there in record time. Even with the short distance, Erik had to hold tightly onto the blanket to keep himself from jerking off. That painful, desperate heat was burning him up, begging for more release, begging to be filled up with T’Challa’s cock again. Retrieving him from the backseat, T’Challa carried him up to his bedroom. The door had just barely closed behind them before Erik was tossed carelessly down onto the bed. T’Challa jumped up onto the bed, rolled him over onto his stomach, wrenched his ass up into the air and forcibly shoved his cock back into his hole. Erik squealed embarrassingly loud. His legs trembled. His fingers dug into the silky sheets. He came again with no difficulty. 

“How many times was that, kit?” T’Challa panted, playfully rolling his hips, grinding his cock against Erik’s overstimulated insides, wrenching another squeal out of him. “How many times have I made you cum without touching that slutty cock of yours?”

“F-four!” Erik gasped. “I came four times!”

“And how many times did that cretin make you cum?”

“None! None! It…it didn’t-!” What he was going to say was lost to a loud, ragged moan. T’Challa slammed in hard, sending him jolting forward. The bed rocked. Blunt fingernails dug into his skin. The world was a blur of colors, creating a kaleidoscope that made him feel nauseous if he tried to focus too much. 

“It didn’t what, kit?”

“Feel good…hated it…disgusting…couldn’t…couldn’t get hard-!” It was annoying but admitting that to T’Challa…it made him feel so good – like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. He hadn’t gotten turned on, that asshole hadn’t been able to make him feel anything. 

“Good.” T’Challa murmured, leaning down to playfully nip at his ear, “That won’t stop me from punishing you, but it would be much worse if you had dared get aroused by anyone other than me.”

Erik managed a weak laugh. Yeah…that…it wasn’t possible. This goddamn bastard…he was the only one who could make him feel like this. That whole thought that as long as he was fucked enough by someone else, he would be able to bleed this poison out of his body was ludicrous. Anyone else…he didn’t want them. His body would firmly and loudly reject them. He only wanted T’Challa. Even if this spelled doom for him, there was no escaping it. 

Those teeth were sunk in far too deep. 

Warm fingers wrapped around his jaw, jerking his head around so he was looking up into that hard, dark gaze. Pushing his face into Erik’s, T’Challa glared at him for a moment before saying in that low voice, “You’re mine. Understood? You are mine! I will not give you to anyone. I will not allow anyone to have you! You ever pull a stunt like tonight, I will drag you out in front of all of Wakanda and fuck you until you weep! Do you understand…Erik?”

A powerful jolt wracked his body. Fuck…he was done for. That warmth, that fluttery feeling in his stomach…that wasn’t lust or desire. It was a feeling he didn’t think he’d ever experience. Love…that was what he was feeling, wasn’t it? Hearing T’Challa say his name like that, hearing the anger in each word, what little resistance that had been left was gone in an instance. The towel was officially thrown him. He might as well get ‘T’Challa’s property’ tattooed directly on his forehead. Allies? Conquering? Vengeance? Yeah, might as well kiss that good-bye. Pack all those motivations in a bag and leave them at the door because he didn’t need them anymore. All he needed was this…bizarre, dangerous, demented man. Breathing heavily, certain that he was must be taking a stupid face, Erik shakily nodded, “Y…y.es…sir…”

“Good boy.” Straightening back up, T’Challa pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, “Now, you’re going to spend the rest of the night showing me how sincere you are.”

-

“Well,” Erik commented plainly, staring up at the ceiling of T’Challa’s bedroom, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Bent over the datapad, his scruff getting a little out of control, T’Challa glanced at him out of the corner of his eye then back to the screen. Laid out flat on his back, his skin still slightly damp from the bath they’d just gotten out of, Erik fought off the seductive lure of sleep. Predictably, they had gone at it all night. His hole was still numb from how much the bastard had fucked him. Still, not to say that he wasn’t thoroughly satisfied. He felt a bit like the fat cat who had just managed to gobble down the canary it had been greedily eyeing for so long. The realization that everything he had worked so hard for, everything he had wanted to accomplish was just kind of gone failed to get that much of a reaction out of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care – he did…in a way – but his thoughts were entirely too focused on something else. This confusion…he was sick and tired of it. For all the talking T’Challa did – making sure he knew what they were going to be doing, making sure he knew the safe word, making sure that he knew how to stop what they were doing if he started feeling overwhelmed, checking with him afterwards to make sure that he liked what they were doing and all that other bullshit that both did and didn’t get exhausting after a while – there hadn’t actually been any talking that explained just what in the fuck their relationship was. 

Now that is was a while later and he had been fucked into almost a stupor, it was a little easier to think. Sure, he was tired but this exhaustion helped get something obvious to the forefront of his mind. What T’Challa had said when Erik asked why they’d never had real sex…it was disingenuous cruelness. It was difficult to note off the bat, simply due to the fact that T’Challa displayed cunning cruelty every day. It was all part of the act, just another piece to this strange relationship. T’Challa’s usual cruelness was never truly genuine and it always followed by a profound sweetness. He counteracted both sides of the coin perfectly. Nothing he did, nothing he said was meant to truly hurt Erik. That wasn’t his intention. His intention was always to give him what he wanted: to be dominated, humiliated, degraded…but in a safe environment. What he had said yesterday…that was meant to hurt him. That was an intentional, deliberate cruelness. That he was certain off. From the exaggerated, almost cartoonish way that T’Challa had delivered the line to his reaction to Erik finding some random asshole to fuck him – all pointed to it being disingenuous. 

He just couldn’t figure out the why. Maybe he was just a little too tired to put everything together, which only prompted him to push the quiet T’Challa even harder. Rolling over slightly, he poked his thigh, glaring without any real heat up at him. When that still failed to get an answer out of the bastard, Erik blew out a hard breath through his nose. Sitting up (as best he could with his hips smarting), he smacked away T’Challa’s immediate attempt to gently push him back down, shooting another glare his way. Leaning over so that the bastard was forced to look at him, Erik stared into those dark, unreadable eyes for a few moments then said in a low, strong voice, “You owe me a fucking explanation. I deserve one. All you’ve done since day one is mess with me. The biggest thing you’ve spewed since this dumb shit started was communication. Had to tell me what we were doing, had to tell me how to stop what we’re doing but you’ve never bothered to tell me why.”

“Why?” T’Challa repeated softly. 

“Yeah, why. Why the fuck did you make that proposition? Why the fuck have we been doing this? Why,” Erik paused for a moment then shifted closer, “did you react like that when I asked a reasonable question? All I wanted to know was why we didn’t fuck. Considering everything else, it is really damn strange that that was the one thing we hadn’t done.”

Pushing in even closer, the muscles in his lower back moaning in protest at the uncomfortable position, Erik said, “You’re always telling me to be honest…that you’d know if I wasn’t. Well, I’m telling you right now…what you said yesterday, it’s bullshit. That’s not what you really think. Wanna know what I think?”

“Yes.” T’Challa responded honestly, setting the datapad aside. He rested his large hands in his lap, gazing intently at Erik. 

“I think you were trying to drive me away. Truth is, you wanted to, didn’t you? Somebody who didn’t want to fuck me wouldn’t have- wait, how the fuck did you find me yesterday, anyway?”

The muscles in T’Challa’s jaw twitched, “I followed you.”

“You followed me?” Erik repeated in disbelief, “Why the fuck didn’t you just stop me and tell me what you wanted?! You’re always making me spill my guts so why do you get to hold everything in?”

“Panic.”

Erik waited a moment to see if he was going to elaborate but when nothing came, he let out a harsh sigh. Rubbing his temple, he said, “You know, for someone who talks way too fucking much, you’re picking the wrong time to clam up.”

“My first sub…” T’Challa said quietly, “no, my only sub…aside from you, it…it didn’t end well between us.”

“What, did she like bite your dick or something?”

“No…no, no. Nakia was…she was perfect. Beautiful, smart, fun, and strong. She,” T’Challa chuckled, “she was a lot like you…only a little more refined.”

“Hey.” Erik said indignantly. 

“No, the problem was me. It’s always been me. I am not taken easily. Droves of possible partners walk through my doors every single day but not one of them is able to excite me. Not in the same way she did…not in the same way that you do.”

“So?”

“When we first started our relationship, we understood where we both stood. In the bedroom…or away from prying eyes, I was her Master and she my sub. I dragged out her darkest desires, the wills and wishes she had long kept hidden. I stripped her bare and forced her to expose to me everything. I punished her…I rewarded her. In her, I found a pleasure that nothing else, no one else could replicate. Holding her down, making her submit, playing with her until she was begging for release then taking her into my arms, loving her, cherishing her, praising her until I was hoarse and hardly able to speak…it was heaven.”

“What happened?”

T’Challa was silent for a moment. His gaze slid away. Brushing a hand through his hair, he murmured, “I pushed things too far. We knew where we stood in the beginning but as I tasted more and more of that pleasure, I started to want more and more. No longer was I satisfied with keeping it hidden away in the depths of the darkness. I wanted to claim her in the light of day. I wanted to push in even deeper, to find even more of her hidden desires. I…I wanted to treat her the same way I’ve treated you. It was never enough. I was possessed by her, obsessed with her. I wanted to own every inch, every tear, every bead of sweat, every breath. I wanted her always, my thoughts were consumed by her. I took everything she offered and continued to demand more. And she…she didn’t want that. And I didn’t listen to her.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, “I pushed and pushed and pushed. I ordered, I commanded her to do things I knew she was uncomfortable with. And she, one day, left without a trace. Disappeared to who knows where, leaving me to realize how cruel I had been. That day, I swore to myself that I would never take another sub. I thought there was a darkness inside me, a beast that was insatiable – that it would consume everything in its path.”

T’Challa chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head, “For years, I held strong to that oath…then you show up at the bottom of my throne.”

Those dark eyes slid up to focus on him. A hard jolt wracked his body. Sighing softly, T’Challa reached up to gently brush the backs of his fingers over the curve of Erik’s cheek. Fondness and heat swam brilliant in his eyes. A flush of warmth rushed down from the crown of his scalp to the tips of his toes. Giving his head another rueful shake, T’Challa said, “I knew I was in trouble from the first word you spoke. Not since Nakia had anyone been able to captivate me so completely. If it had been anyone else, I would have had the Nora Majie remove you…immediately. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have acted in such a revolting way. I wouldn’t have commanded you, I wouldn’t have driven you to your knees, I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t have used the affect I know I was having on you to gain the satisfaction of making you kneel at my feet.”

“But you…you sunk your teeth into my mind and wouldn’t let go. I tried to drive you from my thoughts yet you clung to me. When you appeared in the training room, when you looked at me with those hungry eyes, I knew I was walking into alligator infested waters. I told myself ‘drive him away, make him leave before you hurt him’ but I…by that point, I was already obsessed. I could not more make you leave than I could move a mountain. That desire, it drove me to act callously. Once again, I forced my desire onto you without your consent. Once again, I made you bow before me. You accused me of leaving you before giving you any relief but it was done out of shame, out of terror. I raced back to my quarters, sick and dizzy, utterly wrapped up in you, desire for you pounding through my veins. I knew…I was lost. That all I could do to stem this rampant hunger was to make the same offer to you as I did to Nakia: become mine. I didn’t expect you to accept. When you did, I knew I had to be careful. Right at that instant, I made for myself a new oath. I would never fuck you. Anything else that you desired? I would do it, happily but I would never touch you like that.”

“It was your barrier between us.” Erik said softly. 

T’Challa nodded, “A flimsy, weak barrier. Every time I touched you, I longed for more. It was never enough. I burned constantly with the desire to claim you but I kept in control by constantly reminding myself what I could do. I allowed myself to indulge a little – no matter what I did, you never seemed petrubed or upset. Everything that made Nakia uncomfortable, you seemed to thrive in.” Another weak chuckle, “It was like…we were made for each other.”

A shiver raced down Erik’s spine. Giddy warmth bloomed in the center of his chest. Firmly holding his expression at a neutral curiosity, he said, “When I asked why we’d never done it, that caused you to panic.”

“Panic isn’t a strong enough word. One of the biggest restraints was thinking that you didn’t want to. Suddenly learning that was something you wanted, it threatened to unravel me. What I said…it was a kneejerk reaction – the only thing I could think of to convince you otherwise. Perhaps…it would have worked, if you had not come at me with ‘well, guess I’ll go get fucked by someone else’.”

“You were angry. I thought that you might have been but-“

“Angry? No, enraged. I could see only red. I watched you go through that haze. In the back of my mind was a little voice ‘let him go, let him run, better than capturing him and never letting go’. I heard that voice, I took note of it then…I followed you. My mind was blank. That voice kept trying to convince me to return home, to let you do as you wished but…I could not listen. I watched you go into the bar. I watched you walk out with that man and go into his apartment. I parked outside and I sat there, staring at the last spot I had seen you. That voice said ‘let him go’.”

T’Challa fell silent for several moments, staring vacantly at Erik’s hands. Resisting the urge to twitch, to push, Erik impatiently waited for him to continue. His heart was beating at a rapid pace. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Right then, he had more energy, more pep than he could ever remember having. Anticipation hummed through his veins. A jitteriness had settled into his limps. All the sudden, he felt as though he could do thousand jumping jacks and not get the least bit tired. It was so strange for T’Challa to be so open, so distinct but he was hanging onto every word. They bounced around in his head, building up until he was desperate to hear the conclusion. Suddenly, T’Challa moved. Reaching forward, he took one of Erik’s hands into his own. Bringing it to his mouth, he softly, sweetly kissed his palm. A bolt of tingles raced up his arm. He somehow managed not to gasp. Sighing softly, the warm air brushing along his skin, those dark eyes flickered up to capture him with an intense gaze. 

“And I told it ‘no’.” T’Challa murmured. “I could no longer care about the consequences. I couldn’t care about what I might do. I realized that I was going down the same path I went with Nakia and knew it could end with just as much pain but…I did not want to balk from that fear. I…I did not want to lose you. I could not stand to lose you.”

Sighing, T’Challa lightly nuzzled Erik’s palm, “I will admit that I did not act in the most…restrained way last night. I should not have reacted so violently but seeing him inside you, seeing you underneath him, I moved without thought, taking you, claiming you, pounding it into the very marrow of your bones that you are mine. I’m sorry, kit. I’m so sorry.”

“If you’re going to apologize,” Erik said, “least call me by my name…not anymore of this ‘kit’ nonsense.”

T’Challa raised his head to look at him. They gazed at each other for a moment then the softest, fondest smile tugged at the corners of T’Challa’s lips. Erik’s heart skipped a beat. Heat poured into his cheeks. Stupid goddamn motherfucker, where’d he get off, looking at him like that? Pressing another kiss to his palm, T’Challa murmured, “I’m so sorry, Erik. I swear to you, I will never treat you like that again.”

Stretching out his legs, trying his damndest not to show how happy he was to finally hear this stupid motherfucker finally call him by his name, practically choked on his own giddiness, Erik replied in the most nonchalant voice he could must, “Acting like I don’t like to be treated like that.”

“That has nothing to do with this. I should not do anything without your explicit consent.”

“Well,” Erik shot him a snarky grin, “you’ve got my consent so how about you don’t withhold that shit from me again?”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t lie to me ever again.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t hide shit from me ever again.”

“I won’t.”

Erik paused for a moment then said, “I’ve only had bad experiences with Doms. Every single one has made this desire I have into a weapon, rather than something I could just enjoy. They made it into something that I felt like I constantly had to hide. You…you scared the fuck out of me. You’re talking about how I captivated you? Well, consider the feeling mutual. Motherfucker, did you know how bad I had it from that first command? Do you wanna know how badly you fucked me up from the beginning? Everything you did flew into the face of everything I knew. Sure, some Doms treated me alright but none…none fucking treated me like you did. I loved every moment of it. I loved being punished, being treated roughly – loved the way you held me down and made me submit. I loved everything from the moments in private to being made to walk around a crowded ballroom with a sounding round in my dick. I loved being held by you, comforted by you, praised by you. You…fuck, you bore yourself into me, sunk your teeth into me and when I struggled to break free, you tightened your hold even further.”

“I kept trying to break away. I kept trying to convince myself that you meant nothing to me. Fucker, I came here to dethrone you. I wasn’t kidding that day in the training room. I came here to take Wakanda from you. I was going to build allies, support, gather intel, take everything I could to make sure I could bring you down. Now? Do you wanna know what I want know?”

“What, Erik?”

“For you to fucking kiss me already.” Erik replied firmly. “I told you,” he curled his fingers around T’Challa’s hand, jerking him forward a little, “stop withholding shit from me. You want me? Well, fucker, you got me. Everything I built up towards, everything I worked for…it wasn’t to make me King of Wakanda, it was to bring me right here, right next to you. So stop fucking flapping your gums and fucking kiss me.”

T’Challa’s eyes widened. For a moment, Erik thought he was going to stall or bolt but instead, he chuckled – a low, raspy sound that made his nearly numb dick twitch excitedly. Reaching up, he gently cupped Erik’s cheek, tugging him forward. Their breath mingled together. The sharp, pronounced scent of T’Challa filled his nose. A muscular arm looped around his waist, tugging him in even closer. Then, finally, warm, firm lips pressed to his in what started out as a chaste kiss but quickly devolved into a ravenous, possessive claim to his mouth. T’Challa pushed forward, shoving him back down onto the bed. Warm, calloused hands pushed through his hair. A hot tongue, tasting of spices and sweetness, slid between his lips. Shivering, a bolt of lazy heat rolling straight down to his cock, which immediately began to stir in response, Erik kissed him back with the same frantic energy. Fuck…god fucking damn. It felt so fucking good. Kissing T’Challa…it was goddamn divine! He’d experienced his fair share of kisses since he started fooling around with Doms but to no one’s surprise, T’Challa stood head and shoulders above everyone else. 

This…it felt so incredible good, he had to wonder why he had waited this long. Shit, it was so fucking obvious. There was no getting around it. He was T’Challa’s. He was meant to be his. He was meant to be right here, underneath him, being devoured by him. Whatever other plan he had for himself, it was not as the Gods decided. For the first time since he started getting involved with Doms, he…he was okay with that. 

Pulling away with a sharp gasp, T’Challa pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose then his forehead, “I…I will not ask it now. On the next Day of Challenge, I will ask you to be mine. I will give to you the symbol that will showcase to everyone who you belong to. Then, and only then will I accept your answer.”

Rolling his eyes (didn’t he just give that answer?), Erik just nodded, figuring that there was no arguing with him. T’Challa wanted to wait until then? Fine with him, it wasn’t like the answer was going to change from now until then. He had already made up his mind. Aside from this bastard flying off his fucking rocker, there wasn’t much that could change it. 

-

The door to his bedroom slid open. Erik didn’t raise his head as T’Challa slipped into the room. He did glance over to the clock, though. Bastard was a minute early, which was a little shocking. Usually, he was right on time. Striding over to the bed, T’Challa sat down on the edge. One large, warm hand landed on Erik’s thigh. Warmth seeped in through his jeans. He instinctively reached down to cover the back of T’Challa’s hand with his own. Slipping his fingers through Erik’s, T’Challa said nothing, his gaze turned towards the open window. Outside, the city was bustling. Loud voices called out in multiple languages. Hums, roars and grinds of engines created an obnoxious cacophony. People were pouring in from all over to witness the spectacle of the Day of Challenge. Soon, T’Challa would be called to center stage to announce the start. In a few hours, right as the sun was hanging at the highest point in the sky, he would face against all those foolish enough to challenge him. There was no doubt in Erik’s mind that this bastard would win easily. 

“Have you made up your mind?” T’Challa asked quietly, his gaze still focused on the window. His fingers lightly rubbed Erik’s thigh. 

Had he made up his mind? Oh, that had happened a long time ago. He knew the first night they had sex. He knew as those dark eyes were bearing down on him, as that smooth voice was sternly telling him that he was T’Challa’s, no one else’s. He was just waiting for T'Challa to finally ask him again. He was a lot stronger now. He knew that. He might even stand a chance against T’Challa, especially since he knew a lot of his weaknesses now. Was he going to find out? Was he going to follow through on the mission he had set himself a year ago when he first came to Wakanda?

“Yeah.” Erik answered, pushing up onto his elbows. There was no fear, no trepidation, no annoyance or irritation. It was odd but…in a way, it felt like everything he had done in his life had been drawing him towards this certain point. He didn’t really believe in destiny or fate. Looking at it from a certain angle, though…he supposed this could be called both of those things. 

“Your answer?” It was probably just his imagination but T’Challa sounded a little apprehensive. He wished he could see his face right then. Leaning over a little to the side to see if he could sneak a peek, Erik was a little disappointed when he found that he was wearing the same ole calm, detached expression. Couldn’t he be a little more honest at a time like this? Jesus, for someone who was constantly pushing communication, he didn’t like his emotions to show on his face much, huh? 

Flopping back down onto his back, Erik let him hang for a moment then, with a sigh, held out a hand, “Give it to me.”

“No.” T’Challa said after a beat. “Sit up. I want to put it on you.”

Rolling his eyes, not really seeing the difference in who put it on, as long as it was put on, Erik did as he was told, sitting upright. T’Challa stood, one hand reaching for his back pocket. There was a bright light dancing in those dark eyes. It looked as though he was trying very hard to keep his expression even. Thankfully, he was doing a miserable job. How fucking ecstatic he looked was obvious in every line and curve in his face. Seeing him like that…it instantly made him feel confident that he had made the right choice. Pulling in a deep breath, T’Challa held out a thick leather collar for Erik could see. His heart leapt up into his throat. His cock twitched excitedly. Fuck…there it was…that one final step. Something he had always been so terrified of doing. That strip of leather was a physical representation of his status as a Sub. Hanging from the loop of vibranium was the symbol of Wakandan Royalty – a in-your-face indication of just who he belonged to. 

If anyone else had been waving that around in his face, he would have kicked them in the dick. Doms had tried before to collar him. One of his worst encounters with a Dom had been him trying to get what was essentially a dog collar bought from a dollar store around his neck. Anyone else would have gotten a response of rage and anxiety. T’Challa got an instant erection and a fluttering heart. Swallowing hard, Erik tilted his head back, staring up into those shining eyes as T’Challa silently put the collar around his neck. The smooth leather felt amazing against his skin. Cool metal pressed to the top of his collarbone. Trailing his fingertips over the leather, T’Challa took a step back, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“It looks good on you.” He murmured, his low voice laced with fondness. 

“It better.” Erik rolled backwards across the bed. Hopping up, he went over to the full-length mirror to get a good look of himself with the collar one. T’Challa was right – it did look good on him. He probably would have gone with a different color but, regardless, he liked it. In fact, he was a little annoyed with just how much he liked it. It looked…right. It felt right. Having this simple piece of leather wrapped around his neck…it was oddly comforting. Now, everyone…everyone would know who he belonged too. A rush of happiness bloomed in the center of his chest. He had thought that he would have felt some trepidation, some uncertainty…was this the right thing to be doing? Was he making the right choice? Seeing T’Challa so happy that he had accepted the collar had gotten him to 99% sure but actually seeing the collar around his neck – that got him the rest of the way. 

This was the right choice. He was meant to be here. He was meant to be T’Challa’s. 

Strong arms wrapped snugly around his waist, tugging him back against a muscular chest. Sighing softly, Erik leaned into the embrace. T’Challa rested his chin on Erik’s shoulder. Sliding his hand up his stomach and chest to brush his fingertips across the collar, T’Challa said, “You’re mine.”

“Yeah, I’m yours. No need to rub it in.”

“You try to leave me and I’ll make you regret it.” T’Challa kissed the side of his neck, his warm breath brushing along his skin.

Erik snorted, “Don’t think you have to worry about something like that.” He paused for a moment then quietly added, “Couldn’t leave you even if I wanted to.”

T’Challa gently stroked the tips of his fingers along Erik’s chest. They remained like that for a while, just silently enjoying each other’s warmth. All too soon, there came the loud ringing of the bell announcing that attendees to the Day of Challenge had better start pouring into the stadium. Otherwise, they were going to be out on the street, watching the activities on the big screen. Sighing with obvious irritation, T’Challa stepped back, his arms sliding away from Erik’s midsection. He kept his hands on Erik’s hips as he turned to face him. Offering a slight smile, he reached up to brush the backs of his fingers along the curve of his cheek. Erik leaned into the touch, covering the back of T’Challa’s hand with his own. Fuck…he really did love this man. This bizarre, enigma of a weirdo had really gotten him to fall this deeply in love with him – to the point that he couldn’t even begin to entertain the thought of being separated from him. 

“I’m not going to throw you away. You aren’t a toy that I’m going to discard. I will not get bored of you, no matter what.” T’Challa suddenly said, “You know that, right?”

Eyes widening slightly, Erik got embarrassingly close to tearing up but managed to get a hold of himself just in time. Fuck this stupid asshole, making him feel all sappy and mushy. He was a man, goddamnit – men didn’t do this kind of bullshit. Masking it with a laugh, he tossed his head with playfully haughtiness, “I knew but it’s always good to hear. You can say it even more, if you want.”

The smile on T’Challa’s face grew. Another thing he had been doing a lot more of: smiling. Erik could still vividly remember how fucking happy he had been the first time he had gotten a genuine smile out of the damn bastard. Now, it was a normal thing, but he still cherished every single one. Tilting his head slighter, he murmured warmly, “I think I’ve got something even better.”

“Oh, yeah? And what is-“

Before he could finish asking, both of T’Challa’s hands cupped his face. Tilting his head back, he slowly leaned in to press his firm, smooth lips to Erik’s. An electric jolt of tingling excitement burst from his lips, rippling through his body in an immense wave. He tensed up for just a moment – more out a shock than anything else – then melted into T’Challa’s touch. His eyes fluttered close. Letting out a soft, content breath through his nose, he pushed back into the kiss. Despite all of their intimacy, all of their closeness, they had not kissed once over the year they had been together. That had always been something that he felt like he was waiting for the right moment to do. Had he been hoping for? Maybe not consciously but that desire had always been there. Wrapping his arms loosely around T’Challa’s broad back, he stepped in closer. To his relief, T’Challa immediately got the hint. His arms dropped down to wrap tightly around him, crushing him to a muscular chest. A hot tongue, tasting of sweetness and spices, slipped into his mouth. Erik moaned softly, sucking eagerly on that delicious tongue. 

To no one’s surprise, being kissed by T’Challa was divine. He’d experienced his fair share of kisses since he started fooling around with Doms – none of them came even remotely close to feeling this good. T’Challa’s lips were two clouds of heaven, gently caressing his own. He could have kissed him for the rest of the month but, all too soon, T’Challa was pulling away with a pleased sigh. Smiling warmly, he kissed the tip of Erik’s nose, “Don’t give me that pouty look. I have to go to the opening ceremonies.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Erik rolled his eyes, unable to keep a smile off his face, “Go on, then.”

T’Challa quirked a brow. Stepping back, he held out a hand, “We’re going together.”

“I’m going with you?” Erik asked in surprise, his brows shooting up to his hairline. 

“Of course.” T’Challa responded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Erik gawked at him for a moment then laughed, giving his head a slight shake. No matter how much they learned how to communicate with each other, he was never going to fully understand this man. Enigma wasn’t good enough to describe him anymore. He was far too strange for just that word. He was going to have something better but, in the meantime…Erik took T’Challa’s outstretched hand. T’Challa tugged him over to his side, one arm looping around his waist, squeezing him in close. Together, they walked out of Erik’s bedroom. It would be strange, to stand in front of all of Wakanda with the collar around his neck but…the thought of everyone seeing just who he belonged to…knowing that T’Challa was proudly displaying him…well, that was worth dealing with some dirty looks and bitter whispers spoken behind cupped hands. Pressing in closer, snorting when T’Challa pressed a kiss to his temple, Erik briefly wondered what his life would have been like if he had taken that plane back to America instead of chasing after T’Challa but quickly decided that he didn’t fucking care. He was meant to be here. He was meant to be T’Challa’s. 

The crowd cheered as they stepped out on stage. T’Challa untangled himself to deliver the opening speech. Several of the higher ranked assholes in the stadium with them shot Erik dirty, disgusted looks – the question of ‘why would the King choose a lowly commoner like him?’ clear in their eyes. Clasping his hands behind his back, Erik easily ignored them. None of them were brave enough to do or say anything about it. Why should he care what they think? There was only one person who mattered now. The fucking King of Wakanda – this goddamn bastard who’d drawn him in with a boot to the crotch and a strong voice demanding him to kneel.


End file.
